


Indispensable

by 27dragons, tisfan



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Regency, Anal Sex, Arranged Marriage, Ballroom Dancing, Frottage, Identity Porn, Kidnapping, Letters, M/M, Major Character Injury, Masturbation, Minor Violence, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Sharing a Bed, Switching, Virginity, manners and courting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-21
Updated: 2018-11-06
Packaged: 2019-06-30 06:10:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 73,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15745857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/27dragons/pseuds/27dragons, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tisfan/pseuds/tisfan
Summary: In accordance with Howard Stark’s will, Tony must wed by his birthday in order to keep his current title, Duke of Manhattan. With very little interest in a spouse, Tony allows an arranged marriage with the son of the man who saved Tony’s life when he was just a boy. Disgusted with a loveless arrangement, Tony decides to spend time away from home, in the village of Riker, where he holds the rank of Marquis, and where no one expects anything of him, aside from to buy the drinks and to raise hell.Bucky Barnes has nothing to his name except his good reputation and his looks to recommend him. On the verge of being thrown out of their home, Bucky receives an offer -- come to Manhattan and marry the Duke. Of course Bucky knows the story, twenty years ago, his father saved the Duke’s life. It seems the Duke has decided to pay the debt by offering marriage and providing for Bucky’s mother and sister.When Bucky is kidnapped, to be held for ransom as the Duke’s betrothed, he is rescued by a dashing Marquis, with whom he falls in love...





	1. His Grace's Most Pressing Problem

**Author's Note:**

> This fic will update on Tuesday and Thursday for the next three months

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Jarvis brings it to Duke Stark's attention that he really must wed soon, Tony resents it. He makes a careless choice and instructs his faithful butler to arrange the matters while he goes off to raise hell one last time before he's tied down for good.
> 
> Meanwhile, Bucky gets a letter instructing him to report to the Duke to see if he might make a good spouse. Bucky resents it.

Edwin Jarvis, who was theoretically the butler to the ducal household but took on dozens of tasks, including valet and steward, shook out the duke’s evening jacket, a simple black, but finely made and tailored to the inch. “Your Grace,” the butler began, helping his master into the coat, “I believe I have discovered a solution to your Grace’s most pressing problem.”

“Have you, Jarvis? That’s excellent news. I’ve been desperate for an excuse not to attend Lord Reed’s seminar. The man’s clever, but he does drone on.” Tony Stark, Duke of Manhattan, settled the jacket across his shoulders and shot his cuffs, half-turning to admire his profile in the long mirror.

“No, your Grace,” Jarvis said, “I was supposing that a mere note would suffice, should you find attending to be out of your grace’s patience. I was referring to a more significant issue.” He dusted non-existent lint off Tony’s shoulders.

“Smith Thor’s not on again about taking on one of his apprentices as my heir, is he? They’re fine children and proving to be quite gifted in the smithy, but it takes more than that to make a duke.” He looked over the selection of jewels Jarvis showed him and selected a pair of rings. He didn’t like to wear too many at once; they made his hands unwieldy and limited any functional use.

“No, but it does have to do with your Grace’s status as duke,” Jarvis said. It was sometimes quite annoying when Jarvis wished Tony to say or do a specific thing. Tony’s brain, while quick and agile, didn’t seem to follow the same paths as other people’s. Guessing games were never anything he was going to improve upon, especially when Jarvis was so obviously trying to be delicate. Whatever it was, the old butler was obviously taking it very seriously.

Tony wracked his brain, trying to think what other ducal concerns awaited. “You found an artist for the formal portrait?” By all rights, Tony’s formal portrait ought to be well underway by now -- it had been quite some time since he’d inherited the title -- but sitting for a painting was far down the list of things Tony wanted to do, so he kept putting it off.

Jarvis peered out of the bedroom window. “No, your Grace. The _other_ problem. Hogan is bringing the carriage ‘round now, but if you’ve a moment, I have been going through the mail, and I believe this deserves more immediate attention.” He put a simple card on the dresser, lined in black ribbon. A death notice. How depressing.

Tony picked up the card and scanned its contents quickly. It was of distinctly mediocre stock, the writing tremulous, as if one the bereaved family had penned the words themselves rather than hire a scribe. It informed him that one Mr. George Barnes, Esquire, of Brooklyn, had passed. The name seemed very vaguely familiar, but Tony couldn’t think how he knew it. Probably someone he’d met in passing, or perhaps a businessman he’d worked with.

“Very sad for the Barnes family, of course,” Tony said, glancing sidelong at Jarvis. “We’ll send a condolence, I suppose, with the next mail to go out. But I don’t see how that impacts my position, or any problems I currently have.”

“You are not much like your father, young sir,” Jarvis said, resorting to more fond and less formal tones than he usually used. Jarvis had a great deal of respect for the ducal line. More so than Tony, most days. “The old duke would not have appreciated my being so forward, but if I may explain?”

“You know I rely on you to speak plainly, always,” Tony assured his butler. “Please go on.”

“I’m sure you’ve heard the old stories, although it’s been some years since your mother told this one. When you were but a young child, your parents went boating, and you attended. There was a terrible and sudden storm, and you were swept off the boat and into the floodwaters. You were not but two or three, and you hadn’t yet learned to swim,” Jarvis said. Tony still didn’t much like swimming; maybe that was where his distaste had come from. “And Mr. Barnes, a squire of meager means in Brooklyn, at great risk to his own life, pulled you from the water. He didn’t know who you were, just that you were a child in danger. Your father attempted to reward him for his service, but Mr. Barnes would not hear of it. I believe he and your father maintained a lively correspondence for many years. Mr. Barnes saved your life, thus ensuring that you would become the duke, your Grace.”

Now that Jarvis had brought up that old story, Tony remembered it. His mother had told it with a great deal more embellishment. “Yes, I recall the tale. Where are you taking this?”

“Mr. Barnes lost much of his fortune, which was never vast to begin with, investing in Baron Hammer’s whimsies,” Jarvis said. “I believe the widow Barnes and their children are but weeks away from being cast off their family land and left to starve in the streets. The eldest, a son, is of marriageable age and I understand has been well chaperoned since his coming out.”

Oh. _That_ problem. Tony was only months from his twenty-ninth birthday, the date by which his father’s will had stipulated that he be wed, or he would no longer be a duke, the title falling to the next in line -- his father’s old friend and advisor, Obadiah Stane. “You’re suggesting that I marry the young Mr. Barnes.”

“Yes, your Grace,” Jarvis said. “He is of appropriate age, but in such a situation that he will… perhaps not expect too much from a spouse. Grateful for being removed from his current state of poverty. Well trained to please, but not so much that he will interfere with the duchy. Just barely on the edge of the gentry at all and has not had much of an opportunity to mingle with the peerage. He will come into the household free of the politics and maneuverings of the other, more eligible young people that your Grace has been presented with.”

“You’re overselling it, Jarvis,” Tony said. He made a face, looking down at the elegant but slightly uneven writing of the card. He didn’t _want_ to marry, blast it. What had possessed his father to tie such strings to his inheritance in the first place?

“I’m only looking out for your advantage, your Grace.”

Tony grunted, aware that he was being petulant but not able to suppress it. Jarvis had seen him through much worse, anyway. “Fine,” he grumbled. “If I must. You’ll arrange it, Jarvis. Have the family moved to the house at Inwood. Assuming they accept, of course.” Little danger of them refusing the offer, not if their straits were as dire as Jarvis described. Investing in Hammer, of all the foolish things.

“Of course, your Grace,” Jarvis said. The letter disappeared into the butler’s pocket. “And the carriage is around for you, sir. Thank you for your attention.”

His entertainment for the evening was yet another tedious society function. As the duke, he was expected to attend any number of ridiculous events: plays and recitals and musicales, as well as lectures and poetry readings, among taking his seat in Parliament for the legal and official matters of being the duke. Really, it was enough to drive one completely mad.

“Evening, your Grace,” Happy Hogan, his driver, swung open the door to the lacquered carriage. His prize matched bloodred bays were in the harness, already pawing at the street. Originally, they’d been racers, but Tony couldn’t bear to part with them entirely even if he rarely got the opportunity to be in the saddle these days. They could handle the carriage well enough.

“Evening, Happy,” Tony agreed. “Off for yet another night of torture.”

Happy smirked. “I hear that, your Grace. If you behave all evening, I’ll let you take the leads and give the boys a bit of a run on the way home. The streets should be empty enough.”

“You drive a hard bargain,” Tony said, letting the banter lift his mood somewhat. “I suppose my behavior will depend on whether I find something -- or someone -- worth the consequences.” He wasn’t married _yet_ , obliged to keep his trysts to secretive corners.

God, what a depressing thought. He hoped he’d be able to find someone to take his mind off it.

Happy closed the coach door behind him, mounted the box, and shook the reins. The sedate, appropriate gait was dull. Tony could practically walk faster, but it wasn’t like he was eager to arrive at Lady Walter’s soiree and listen to Jenn sing and play pianoforte and attempt to snare a rich spouse. He ought to call her Miss Walters, of course, but Tony had known her since they were both barely out of leading strings, and he also knew damn well that she had not been well chaperoned, not that he held it against her.

He might have married her himself, except that she definitely would not put up with his meandering ways if they were wed. Too bad; he had no intention of giving that up, even if he would be forced to be more discreet about it as a married man.

At least Jenn could sing and play decently. Half the recitals he was forced to attend were dreadful in both company and entertainment. If Tony must endure the ham-fisted attempts at flirtation employed by the currently eligible set, he might at least glean some enjoyment out of the music. And a glass or three of champagne.

Lady Walters was too busy attempting to push Jenn’s cousin on some unsuspecting local gentry to much bother with the duke. She already knew he wasn’t going to marry her daughter, and the only reason she invited him at all is that some other young people might attend with the hopes of garnering the duke’s interest.

There was an astounding number of vapid, brainless individuals among the year’s current crop of hopefuls. The only one who might have been worth speaking to at all was Jenn’s cousin, and Lady Walters was keeping a wall of young debutantes between Tony and Lord Banner, one of the few others who might talk to him about anything of real interest.

Tony smiled and kissed hands and engaged in enough harmless chatter to make him consider slamming his head into the wall. They were all very impressed with his title, and not remotely interested to discover the man who held it.

It was just as well he’d agreed to Jarvis’ plan to marry the Barnes boy. Barnes couldn’t possibly be any _less_ interesting than these money-grubbing husband-seekers, and at least he’d be a fresh face, for a few days, anyhow.

At the end of the night, Tony had found no one worth taking home with him. Not that he’d expected to find anyone; he’d made his way through the local set quickly enough. He’d need to find a way to expand his sphere of acquaintanceship.

What he should do, he decided abruptly, was take a trip to Riker. Tony had been the Marquis of Riker for much longer than he’d been Duke of Manhattan, and the people there always greeted him warmly. It felt like shedding the heavy burden of the dukedom, whenever he went there. The smithy was adequately supplied for his tinkering, if not quite so robust as Thor’s, and the inn where he liked to stay was on the main road, drawing any number of interesting people that Tony might meet and talk to. Or... other diversions.

And it would give the Barnes family a few weeks to settle in, to get used to their new circumstances, without Tony and all his trappings as duke intruding on their grief.

Yes, that would do nicely. He’d have Jarvis make the arrangements immediately. A few weeks or a month in Riker would do much to shake off his current ennui.

***

Bucky packed the last of his tin soldiers into his trunk. He didn’t really need to keep them -- he hadn’t played army for at least a half-dozen years -- but he just couldn’t bring himself to leave them behind.

Besides, his trunk was more than half-empty as it was. Over the last few months, Dad and Ma had sold everything of value in the small Brooklyn manor to keep their creditors at bay. Bucky had four changes of clothes, his toiletries, his viola, a few books -- and only those because Steve Rogers had drawn art on the inserts and in the margins of some pages, and Bucky refused, point blank, to sell them -- and his father’s watch.

It seemed a poor beginning and a depressing ending.

He sat on his trunk once he closed it and drew out the letter again.

The paper was probably more valuable than anything Bucky owned, aside from maybe the viola.

“He didn’t even write it himself,” Bucky muttered. He was tempted to crumple up the fine paper and throw it away. Ma would probably skin him alive if he did that. She’d wept when she’d read it. Not that Ma crying these days was unusual. She was mourning for Dad, in addition to being worried away to nothing from the money they owed. When Bucky found her clutching the letter to her chest, he’d thought it another collection note at first.

_Dear Mr. Barnes & Family,_

_Duke Stark was most distressed to hear of the loss of George Barnes, to whom he owes much. In that light, he wishes to extend an invitation for your family to take up residence at Inwood manor, one of his many estates, to guest for some time, and to perhaps see if you would suit one another as spouse. His Grace looks forward to your reply and wishes you all the best._

_Sincerely,  
Edwin Jarvis, Stark household chamberlain_

They couldn't even stay in a proper mourning. The duke couldn't court Bucky if he was in black, and Ma had decided that Dad would want Bucky well wed and the family provided for more than he would want them to grieve for his loss. Bucky had already packed away his black suit, although a sense of loyalty to his father kept him wearing an armband.

A light tap on the door preceded a blond head. “Hey, Buck. Your ma said you were up here.” Steve came into the room and looked around. “All packed, huh?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said. There wasn’t a lot in Brooklyn that Bucky was going to miss. There’d been too many jokes recently, and they cut too close to the bone: how the only thing of value the Barnes family had anymore was Bucky’s cherry. And there’d been offers, sly and less than discreet, for relief of debts, if Bucky would trade that one bit of value he had for a night with Alexander Pierce, the Duke of Brooklyn.

 _Ug_.

But Steve. He was going to miss the hell out of Steve.

“Can you believe it?” Bucky waved the letter around again. “Me? Marryin’ the duke?” Bucky shuddered. He’d heard the story, of course he had. Dad liked to tell it whenever he was in his cups, and in the months before his death, he’d been in his cups a lot.

How George Barnes had rescued the drowning heir of the duke, and turned down a hell of reward for it, too.

“Woulda rather Dad had jus’ taken the money when it was offered to him,” Bucky complained. “Now I’m gonna hafta marry some _old guy_. It’s grotesque.” Duke Stark was probably close to sixty at least, with thick knuckles and cold fingers and a tool that was going to have to be coaxed into performance.

By Bucky.

Steve grimaced sympathetically. “You could always turn him down, if he’s really repulsive,” Steve offered. “Find another way.”

“I don't think there is another way,” Bucky admitted. “My options are a wedding or a bedding. And if I'm going to have to bend over anyway, I might as well get a husband out of it. Pierce’d keep us good enough, but only until he gets bored. And that would wreck my chances for anything else. If the duke marries me, he can't so easily put me aside.”

If he hadn't had Ma and Becca to worry about, he might have gone into the Army. But a soldier's draw wouldn't keep up Brooklyn Manor or pay their debts. There weren't any other options. Whoring. Or marriage.

At least this way he'd keep his honor and a roof over his mother's head. Give his sister a chance to find love, maybe.

He always knew he'd have to sacrifice. He just hadn't realized it would be everything that he was.

Steve clapped him on the shoulder. “Sounds like you’ve made your decision, then. Time to make peace with it. You’ll write me, though, won’t you?”

“Every day,” Bucky promised. He reached out for Steve’s hands, squeezing those long, artist fingers. “I’m… trying to make peace with it, but it ain’t easy.” Not that he should complain too much; Steve’s situation wasn’t lots better. No one was trying to force him into a marriage, and Steve had only himself to look out for. But Steve was ill more often than he wasn't, and the physicker's potions weren’t cheap. His paintings didn’t always sell, and he hadn’t managed to land a patron yet. He would, though, eventually. Bucky was just sure of it. Steve couldn’t be so talented for nothing, right?

“Good,” Steve said. He pulled Bucky into a rough hug. “You ever need me, Buck, just say the word. And hey -- maybe it won’t be so bad. You should be there in time for Christmas, yeah? At least that will be nice.”

Bucky inhaled, held it, and let it out. “Well, I’m only nineteen. Maybe the duke’ll die off and I can be the merry widow, yeah?” In the meanwhile, Bucky was going to waste his youth and strength and good looks on some gouty old peer. Huzzah. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have no real idea where (or when!) this novel is set, some weird conglomeration of Regency England and New York City, as well as in some alternate universe where racism, sexism, and homophobia are utterly missing. The lower ranked people, or younger siblings of high ranking nobles compete in the marriage mart to better their stations. Arranged marriages and adopted heirs are normal. In cases of a same-sex couple, or where the child of a marriage is considered ill-suited for the job (of Duke, for instance) the current Duke, with church permission, can assign another heir. 
> 
> Thus, in this particular case: Tony is Duke of Manhattan, so long as he follows the requirements of his father’s will (in this case, getting married before he’s 30) and if he doesn’t follow the will, the position will pass to Howard’s stewart, Sir Obadiah Stane. Tony would still maintain his secondary rank, Marquis of Riker, but it would be quite a fall in both income and status. 
> 
> Bucky’s father, George, was a very low rank gentleman, an esquire with a very small amount of land in Brooklyn. Unfortunately, he got into debts, and after his death, the land was seized to pay off (most) of it. This means Bucky is technically still of the peerage, but he’s lost his land (and thus does not have the rank of Squire and cannot sign his name James Barnes, Esq.) and if he doesn’t make a good marriage, his family will fall out of the upper class, since he has nothing to leave to an heir. With the death of his father, and losing the land, the Barnes’ have no actual income. 
> 
> Bucky has had training to be an upper class spouse; land management, economics, hosting duties, various “fashion” and “entertainment” abilities (singing, playing viola, dancing, etc) that are common to low ranking nobles looking to make a good match. Among these sets of eligible hopefuls (also called debutantes) virginity and looks are prized above all other things.
> 
> Rhodey is a high ranking military officer, with a commission to pay out upon his retirement. His annual income with the military gives him a good sized manor home outside of the capitol, and to provide for his wife, Virginia “Pepper” Potts. He has been actively seeking a knighthood, which would allow him and his heirs entry into the nobility, generally at the rank of baron.
> 
> Steve Rogers is lower middle class. He’s not quite a peasant, but it’s pretty close. His mother was the apothecary in the same village where Bucky’s father was Squire, and Steve is an artist who sells his paintings for a living. Steve is very unlikely to “marry well,” and his goal is to get a rich patron who will provide him an annual salary, as well as bring more nobles and gentry in for “sittings.” It’s an honor to get a painting done from someone who has a high ranking patron and people sucking up, to say, the Duke of Manhattan, might employ a painting from one of his artists, as a way to get to meet the Duke, etc.
> 
> Clint Barton is Lord of Bed-Stuy, with Kate Bishop as his ward/heir. His land is also in Brooklyn as well, and like Bucky’s father, answered to the Duke of Brooklyn, Alexander Pierce.
> 
> Tiberius Stone is also not of the gentry; he’s essentially a very pretty man who sells his body and his sexual services as a companion to the upper classes. He gets gifts and room/board from a noble patron in exchange for his company and bed play.
> 
> Angie Martinelli and Peggy Carter are a married couple, strictly merchant class, who run the inn at Rikers, which used to be Angie’s mother’s place.
> 
> Obadiah Stane is a Knight; he was granted that merit from the previous King for some advancements in weaponry provided to the army, which allowed them to be victorious in the territory battles in the Americas. He has some small properties in Manhattan which earn him a decent income, but most of his wealth and influence have come from managing the Stark’s lands and his various connections with other nobles, clergymen, and military leaders. He and Howard Stark were good friends.


	2. A Good Day for a Race

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tony is almost mistaken for someone important while Bucky is counting his blessings…

The inn at Riker’s crossroads where Tony liked to stay was a little more run-down than he remembered it. The paint didn’t look as fresh, and the roof tiles were cracked in places.

Maybe it had always been like that, and he’d merely not noticed before. Becoming the duke had soured him, he thought. Made him look for trouble where there was none. But that was what this trip was about, wasn’t it? Recovering some of his equilibrium?

He swung off Dummy in the stable yard, tossing the boy a coin and trusting that his bags would make their way up to his accustomed rooms. He crossed the yard and pushed into the broad, bustling building in search of the innkeeper or her wife. “Ale!” he called, finding an open table and claiming a chair there. “Ale for the parched traveler.”

Angie stuck her head into the dining room, her bright eyes fixing on Tony. “Oh, have mercy,” she squeaked. “I thought there was actually _someone important_ here!” Despite that, she was already drawing a mug from one of the barrels behind the bar, tipping the excess foam out with a practiced hand. “We got pie, today, sugar, if you want some? Huckleberry or rhubarb? Are you staying a spell? We haven’t seen you in forever, Tony. Or should I say _your Grace_?” Angie gave him the most sarcastic curtsy he’d ever witnessed.  

Tony felt something strained ease within him at the impertinence. “Keep your grace,” he advised. “Save it for church. I won’t ever be anything more exalted than the marquis, here, and you know it. And even that’s depending on how much ale has been flowing already.” He grinned broadly for her and took a deep draught of the ale. “You still brew the finest,” he praised. “Huckleberry pie, if you please.”

Angie refilled the ale and fetched a thick slice of pie, the crust buttery and flakey, the insides loaded with brown sugar and berries. “It is good to see you again,” she said. “My English rose is off to argue with the local constabulary. Someone stole our good silver mirror out of the public bath last week and nothin’ has been done.” She sighed. “Times are troubled, but don’t let it worry you. We’ll all make merry while you’re here. Should I put out word that you’re looking for card players?” She gave him a quick wink. “There’s a new lad, Lord Barton, who’s been taking your place as local champion. Maybe he could sit you for a game.”

“I might enjoy a few hands,” Tony admitted. “A race or two wouldn’t go amiss, either. Coming here always makes me feel like a boy again.”

“We’ll try hard to help you feel at home, Lord Riker,” Angie said. She threw a saucy wink at him. She sent off one of the stable boys, presumably to spread the gossip of Tony being in the village again. The lesser gentry in the area would flock in for the drinks and food, wenching and gambling, that Tony was sure to attract. Obie could take care of the ducal concerns for a while, and Jarvis would let him know if anything important happened. In the meanwhile, Tony would race and smoke and gamble and wench and have a good time.

Howard would be spinning in his grave. Which was just an added benefit.

The people of Riker had known him since he’d inherited the title at fifteen, barely more than a boy, and most of them still thought of him as such. It was a relief to be back here, where no one expected anything of him or bowed and scraped the way they did when he was being the duke.

Angie brought him a deck of cards with his next pint. He shuffled it neatly and laid out a hand of solitaire, waiting for word to spread.

***

Becca snatched her hat off her head again, the thick Barnes curls going everywhere. She leaned out the carriage window to peer around. “Is this the duke’s land?”

“Yes,” said the coach driver. “We crossed into the duke’s territory not but half a mile before. Everything from here all the way up to Kingsbridge belongs to the Stark family. Road’s out of repair, but we should make the inn at Riker’s not long after dark.”

“Didja hear that, Bucky?” Becca asked, bouncing in her seat with the enthusiasm of all of her fifteen years. Becca hadn’t been anything except thrilled. The duke had sent not one, but two coaches for the family and their things, nevermind the fact that the baggage carriage was practically empty. The duke had also sent a ridiculous engagement ring that Bucky was absolutely refusing to put on his finger.

Despite the fact that Ma was lecturing him about it. And about how he was slouched in the coach seat, like anyone could see him. Or the mess of his hair. Or his manners.

Bucky stared out the window and tried to imagine any of the surrounding greenery belonging to him.

It wasn’t exactly a pleasant view.

It’d been raining most of the day, the roads were thick with mud, and it was cold. Made colder by the fact that his sister kept lowering the window to ask the driver questions.

Bucky closed his eyes, trying to pretend to be asleep, but he was riding backward, which made him feel queasy even under the best of circumstances, and with his eyes closed, all he could feel was the rocking of the carriage.

She was getting ready to start again, Bucky could just tell.

“I don’t see why you won’t wear it,” Ma said. “It’s a very handsome piece.” Perhaps that was true, if one judged jewelry solely on its monetary value.

“It’s heavy,” Bucky complained. It was, too. Solid gold with five stones. Becca had been the one to point out that the first letters of each stone (sapphire, topaz, amethyst, ruby, and kinradite) spelled out STARK. Bucky spent about half a minute being speechless that someone would convince a jeweler to _do that_ , plus being sort of impressed that his sister figured it out, before becoming incensed that Duke Stark wanted Bucky to wear his name. What was he, a dog needing a collar? To show everyone who he belonged to?

No. No thank you.

Ma huffed. “I think we could all appreciate learning to carry such weight,” she chided. The seats creaked as she leaned across the space between them to fuss with his hair, trying to smooth it back into something neater. “He won’t want you if you look like a ragamuffin,” she said. “You’ll need to look presentable. Charming. A fit host and helpmeet.”

“Ma,” Bucky protested, pushing himself back as far in the seat as possible. “I _am_ a ragamuffin.” He wasn’t, not usually. Steve accused him of being sinfully vain and fussing too much over his hair, but that was hardly the point. “An’ my hair would be fine, if Becca would stop opening the window and gawping like a fish at every bush, just because it belongs to the _duke_.”

“Am not!” Becca protested. She flopped down in her seat, pouting.

“We’re not even going to see him today, just the innkeeper,” Bucky finished, crossing his arms over his chest. He knew he was acting like he was five, but he really didn’t feel like pretending to be happy. There would be the whole rest of his life to pretend.

“And how do you know he’s not stationed his men at the inn to report back on how you look and behave?” Ma wondered. “You need to be at your best, James. Your sister and I are counting on you.”

“He sent for me like I was an item in a shop, Ma,” Bucky burst out. “I hardly think he cares what I look like, as long as I scrape and bow enough, and I ain’t been touched.” Bucky couldn’t think of any other reason to propose to someone by the queen’s post. He huffed, blowing his hair out of his face. The duke wanted someone young and virginal. That pretty much meant Bucky’s actual self, his personality and achievements, his soul and brain, none of that was important. If it were, wouldn’t the duke have at least-- Bucky stopped mid-rant, as Ma was staring at him with huge, liquid eyes, looking like she was getting ready to cry.

 _Dammit_.

“Darling,” Ma said, and this time when she leaned over, she merely rested her hand on his arm. “I know it’s hard for you. This isn’t what you wanted, I know. But unfortunately, none of us have the luxury of what we want. We just have to make the best of it.”

“I’m sorry,” Bucky said. He covered her hand with his, noting the chill in her fingers, the way her hand trembled. “I know. It’s a big opportunity. And Becca--” He looked at his sister, who was already back to bouncing and plastering her face against the window. “--she’ll have a fine coming out, fancy dresses and everything. That’s worth it, I just… I would have liked to marry someone who at least respected me as a person.” He ran one hand over his face, feeling the scrape of his beard coming in. He’d have to shave again before he saw the duke, or, god forbid, the duke’s men. “Look, lemme just ride in the other carriage for a while. I’ll get my head on straight an’ be all dutiful and everything charming, promise.”

Ma squeezed his arm a little, probably trying to be reassuring. “Of course,” she said. “You take a little time for yourself. Think of all the good things that will come of this. Or how much worse it might have been. I have every faith that you’ll come ‘round.” She paused. “You might want to shave, while you’re at it.”

Bucky made a snarling noise in his throat. He snatched up his walking stick and rapped on the roof of the carriage. “Can we have a little stop to stretch our legs?” He was going to have to shave in cold water, on the side of the road, to get a little peace.

Too bad Steve couldn’t have come with them. The trip might feel a little less like headed to the gallows if he had someone to joke around with.

The carriages pulled off on the side of the highway, checking over the horses. Becca collected a handful of winter flowers off the side of the road, dried up and dirty, and a few rocks that belonged to the duke while Bucky scraped his chin. Finally ready to get back on the road, chilled to the bone and more aggravated than he’d been before, Bucky pulled himself into the baggage carriage. “Too many women,” he muttered to the driver, who laughed and handed him a flask of some liquid that burned in his throat and spluttered all the way down. As a debutante, Bucky hadn’t ever had spirits stronger than some watered down sherry.

Whatever this was, he wasn’t entirely sure he liked it, but he had a little more, and it seemed to taste better as he made his way to the bottom.

Bucky adjusted the lantern inside the carriage and pulled out his going-away letter from Steve. He hadn’t even technically left when Steve wrote it, but it was supposed to give him some comfort, and Bucky felt like he could use some comfort. He wedged himself onto the seat between Becca’s trunk and the side of the carriage and unfolded the paper.

_Dear Bucky,_

_I’m going to miss you. Whatever happens, that’ll be true._

_I hope it turns out well. I hope you charm the duke the way you charm everyone else. I hope he falls head over heels and gives you everything you ever wanted. I hope that if we have to be apart, then at least some good will come of it._

_You must write often and tell me everything. I want to know how many rooms are in the house and how they’re all decorated and what kind of horses he keeps and whether he hunts and how he treats you. Most especially that. I don’t care if he’s a duke and we’re so poor we’re practically peasants, I won’t stand for him treating you poorly._

_I’ll write again soon. To the end of the line,_

_Steve_

Bucky took another sip of the liquor. He wasn’t sure what it was; it smelled like pine trees and tasted like someone had put an oil fire in a bottle. Whatever it was, it was making his head swimmy. The words danced around on the page.

He refolded Steve’s letter and put it back in his pocket. Took out the _other_ letter. He’d practically memorized it, each whorl of the chamberlain’s handwriting, the smell of the paper, the rich, smooth ink. He didn’t open the duke’s missive, but somehow, holding it made everything seem a little more real.

They would overnight at the inn and then arrive at Inwood Manor sometime after lunch the following day, when Bucky would make his bow to Duke Stark. Get a look at the man he’d be expected to call _dear_. But there would be food on the table. Even the duke’s lowest servants probably ate better than the Barnes’ did. He’d have to relearn and use more complicated table manners. But there would be turtle soup at the wedding -- Steve had tasted it once, as leftovers when he’d done a painting for some swell. And cake. The duke would surely have a fine wedding cake, wouldn’t he?

Becca would have nice dresses. Oh, and Bucky would probably be able to get new boots. His old boots were wearing out at the heel.

Everything would be fine.

He tipped the flask up and took another swallow. Whatever this was, too. He could have as much of that as he wanted.

***

Tony lost spectacularly to Lord Barton at cards -- the man was some kind of cardsharp, and luck had not been on Tony’s side with the draw -- and challenged the man to a race. Tony loved his reds like his own children. The breeder had given them ridiculous names -- Alexander Dumas and Umberto Giordano -- but Tony called them Dummy and U. If they weren’t quite up to besting bred trackhorses, they were still surefooted and more than equal to any peer’s mount on a country road. “Come on,” he cajoled, “let me win a little of it back off you.”

Barton kicked back in his chair, showing off a fancy pair of boots with purple dyed soles. He had a terrible waistcoat in the same color. “I’ve heard about your reds,” he said, considering Tony over the wad of pound notes. “Double, all?” That would be a tidy sum. If he lost, Tony would be lighter by three hundred pounds.

Honestly, it wasn’t like he couldn’t afford it.

“It’s a straight shot, from the inn down to the church,” one of Barton’s cronies added. “Near three miles, that’s a good run, with the roads so poor.”

“Ah, go easy on ‘im,” someone else piped up. “Riker’s embarrassed. I put five out that he refuses th’ race.”

A handful of notes and bets took place behind Tony as people bet whether or not they’d come to an agreement, on Tony’s chances to win, on Barton’s. Someone was even betting that one or the other of them would get thrown in the wet and mud.

Tony grinned and offered his hand for Barton to shake. Sitting his reds wasn’t anything like riding. More like flying. He’d leave Barton in the dust -- or mud, as the weather would have it -- and circle back around to the inn with a healthy appetite for dinner.

Half the inn’s guests headed down to the church to judge the winner. The other half went out to inspect the horses. Barton had a powerful-looking grey with feathered fetlocks, a good hand and a half taller than Dummy, which would give an impressive pull in the beginning of the race, but that beast would have to haul its own weight, plus Barton, who was taller and stockier.

There was a reason why professional racers were all lean, compact men and women. The less a horse had to carry, the faster the run.

It wasn’t currently raining, but the wind was picking up and the road was clotted with mud.

“Back out now, no hard feelings?” Barton offered, pulling on a pair of fur-trimmed gloves.

Tony buttoned his wool overcoat and smirked as he swung into the saddle. “I’ve never gone back on my word before,” Tony said. “But certainly, if you wish to concede, no hard feelings.”

Barton pulled himself up. He had a fine seat and the horse was obviously well suited to his rider. “Nah, just thought we might get a bit wet,” Barton said. He jigged his horse over to the designated start. The grey pawed at the road, digging a little hole in the mud, despite Barton tapping its shoulder.

“You teach him to eat your heels, Lord Riker!” Peggy Carter, the inn’s owner, yelled. She was half climbed up on the fence, hanging onto one of the posts, waving her hat enthusiastically. “I’ll have a bath ready for you, when you get back!”

There were whistles and cheers and a few suggestive remarks. Peggy kicked someone in the back for saying so, good-natured.

It was a good afternoon to win a race.


	3. Stand and Deliver

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bucky has an adventure and loses his clothes. Tony wins a race and rides to the rescue. And there is only one bed...

The rain was thick and cold, and their speed had slowed to a crawl over the poorly maintained roads. Bucky wondered where all the duke’s money was going, and if he couldn’t spare a few pounds in the interest of keeping his carriage’s axel in one piece.

When the first shot rang out, Bucky thought it was a crack of thunder before he heard the call to stand and deliver.

The coach horses reared away from the sound of pistols and someone screamed.

Bucky scrambled for the door’s handle and practically impaled himself on a thick knife, clutched in the hand of a masked brigand. “Back in, swell,” the man demanded, waving the implement. “Ain’t no heroes, here.”

Bucky cringed away from the knife, pushing all the way to the far side of the coach, trying to see what was going on. “Becca! Ma!” He could barely make out figures struggling in the road, the coach’s driver and a number of robbers. “Please, we don’t--”

Bucky took a fist to his jaw and rocked back against the carriage, banging his head.

He struggled to get up. There was a woman screaming, Ma was _screaming_.

“Lookit this fancy,” another robber said, coming up to the baggage coach. “Got ‘em big jewelry, here.” Bucky caught the dim glow of lantern light off Stark’s ring.

“Take it,” Bucky said. “We got nothin’ else, just take it an’ leave us alone.” His mouth felt mushy, his tongue too thick.

“Nice coat, too,” one robber said. “Take it off, we consider lettin’ you live.”

Bucky peeled out of his coat gingerly, his head spinning. The thief put it on, and Ma was still screaming, begging someone, and he had to _do something_.

“Whatiz? That’s the duke’s seal?” The thief pulled out Stark’s letter from Bucky’s pocket. “‘Mere, Robbie, you can do letters, what’s it?”

“ _Please_! Let me go to my mother, you’re scaring her,” Bucky said, reaching out plaintively. He didn’t have a chance against two of them, armed with knives and a pistol.

The other thief squinted at the duke’s letter, then at Bucky. “This… you know who this is?”

“Ain’t th’ duke,” the first one said.

“This is the duke’s _betrothed_.”

The first thief shrugged. “So?”

“Ain’t you got vision?” the literate thief asked. “We c’n hold him for ransom. Duke’ll pay a fortune t’ get him back safe and sound.”

“What, no,” Bucky protested. “He doesn’t even--”

He took another fist to the face and the world exploded in sparkles of light and pain. He uttered a soft groan and fell backward.

This time, he couldn’t find the strength to get up again.

***

The rain had started up again and turned icy as the night got colder, but the inn was a beacon of warmth in the center of the village. At the center of the dining room were Tony and Lord Barton, laughingly recounting their race. With each telling, the road seemed to get a little longer, the horses a little faster, the obstacles larger and more dangerous, the stakes higher and higher.

Pretty soon, they’d be racing from the earth to the moon for the privilege of ruling over the entire world, but everyone was laughing and the ale was flowing freely and the fire was bright and warm.

Barton slung an arm around Tony’s shoulders -- he’d had more to drink than Tony -- and continued, “Had t’be taller’n... taller’n a _house!_ ” Their audience jeered good naturedly, and Barton sloshed his ale at them, making his point. “It _was!_ Any sensible rider’d’ve gone ‘round! So what does this man do?”

“He goes over!” shouted a villager.

“He goes over!” corroborated Barton, shouting.

Tony cackled and took a drink from his own mug. “What can I say? ‘E likes to jump.”

“Jump?!  Th’ horse damn near sprouted _wings!_ ”

Tony opened his mouth to continue the story, but was interrupted by a loud _bang!_ as the door flew open, and a gust of icy wind blasted through the room, guttering the candles.

“Help!” cried the woman at the door. She was sagging under the weight of a young woman who was bleeding profusely from her scalp. “Oh, someone help us! They took my son!”

Tony could practically feel the weight of responsibility settling on his shoulders. This was _his_ land. If there were brigands about, it was his job to see them run out.

He sighed and set down his mug. “Ma’am.” The woman was clearly hysterical, and well she might be, the way her -- daughter? -- was bleeding, and her son gone. “Ma’am, where did this happen?”

She pointed with the arm that wasn’t holding up the girl. “Down the road a ways. They... they let us go, but I looked back, and they were driving our baggage into the woods!”

“You poor dear,” Angie said, bustling up with a thick quilt to drape around the hysterical woman’s shoulders. “There, there, we’ll see to you now. Lord Riker’ll go after ‘em.” She gave Tony a meaningful look. _Go on, idiot_.

Tony gritted his teeth and looked around for Peggy. She took a sword and a pistol out from under the counter and offered them to him wordlessly. Tony buckled on the sword and tucked the pistol into his belt. “Lord Barton, be so good as to run for the constable. And the doctor,” he added, glancing at the bleeding girl. “I’ll be back as soon as I may.”

It was dark and getting darker, but on the plus side, not even a mile from the inn, the bandits had left a trail wide enough for a blind man to track; dragging both coaches off the road and toward the moors. Tony found one man, dead in the ditch. Probably a driver -- he looked almost as old as the woman. Not the son.

Damn them. Highway robbers usually had a strict code of conduct. Not based on mercy, but on sense. No one minded too much if a coach was robbed, the family’s jewelry and ready folding paper made off with, but killings would roust a full-scale manhunt.

Not to mention _kidnapping_.

The rain picked up and the wind was near to blowing him clean out of the saddle. Dummy shied at the shadows, picking his feet from the mud with distaste.

Tony leaned in and patted his neck. “I know,” he said, “I don’t like it, either. And just when you thought you were done for the day, too.” He squinted through the dim light at the wide trail, and turned up the collar of his coat against the pelting bits of ice and rain.

Where did they think they were going? There was nothing near here, nothing but an old hunting lodge that Tony hadn’t visited for several years.

Some good distance into the woods, Tony came across a woodcutter’s or poachers track, wide enough to drive a carriage. Not on any of the official maps. What had been happening on his lands that there were poachers and robbers? Some bad elements had moved in, lulled into a sense of security with the recent overturn of authority?

Not that Howard had been all that concerned about his tenants, spending most of his time at the capital and ignoring his son.

Tony was going to have to get to the bottom of this. But first: find this boy.

***

Bucky was _freezing_ , curled up into a corner of the carriage.

The robbers had entertained themselves by forcing him down to his smalls in the icy rain, splitting up Bucky’s best suit across three or four of them. Then they’d tied him up and shoved him in the carriage before two of them had gone through the Barnes’ belongings.

Bucky’s lip was sore and swollen; he was unwilling to give them more satisfaction by protesting their treatment of his mother’s clothing or his sister’s dolls. They’d already discovered his carefully packed soldiers, and Bucky hadn’t been able to watch as they’d smashed two of them and thrown them out of the carriage.

They’d mocked him for keeping children’s toys, and for wincing when they’d been broken. But they were all that he had in the world, and--

He kept telling himself he wouldn’t cry or bluster.

But he was so cold, and the remains of the driver’s liquor was sloshing around in his empty belly, making him feel sick.

They’d cuffed him around a few times, and at least one of them was eying his naked skin in a way that Bucky didn’t like at all. But the leader, the one who could read, seemed to be a man of more sense than wanton cruelty.

“Leave him alone,” he ordered the others. “Won’t get bank for him, if he’s damaged.”

Bucky had no idea how long they were driving through the darkness, the carriage swaying. He curled up further and tried not to throw up. He didn’t sleep so much as eventually give in to fear and desperation and pass out.

***  

Tony heard the carriage before he saw it in the late evening gloom, the rattle of wheels and jingle of tack as it bounced along the narrow track. Tony patted Dummy’s neck again by way of encouragement, then picked up his speed. As soon as he saw the shadow of it looming up out of all the other shadows, he picked up again. “Halt!” he called. “Stop, in the duke’s name!” Literally, in fact.

Someone actually fired at him, the pistol’s flare bright in the near darkness before the shattering crash sent a tree branch tumbling into the road. How stupid could someone get? Just shooting at him was cause for instant transportation.

The brigands yelled, unclear and garbled, like they were arguing amongst themselves.

Another shot, and Dummy reared up, screaming defiance and fear, nearly throwing Tony to the ground before settling again. It was like something out of one of the novels Tony liked to read as a boy, all fierce adrenaline and excitement, tinged with fear. Funny how the novels never mentioned the freezing rain or the mud.

They tried to push the carriage faster, but the thin wooden wheels were barely built for the cobbled streets, not these deep, muddy tracks.

Tony drew the sword and stood up in the stirrups. “ _Halt, I said!_ ” He charged up close, spotted the man clinging to the footman’s step, and swung, flinging the man down into the mud.

The door of the carriage swung open. “You want ‘im? Take ‘im.”

A pale form appeared in the darkened doorway. Tony got a brief impression of quite a bit of exposed skin and a wild tangle of hair before the figure yelled, and was shoved out of the moving carriage to sprawl in the brush along the road. Dummy almost ran the figure down before leaping over the squirming person, who was trying desperately to cover their head from dangerous hooves and being unable to.

Tony hesitated, wanting to go after the carriage, but the person they’d shoved out of the carriage could die of exposure before he got back to them. _That’s why you have a constable, Stark_ , he reminded himself. He’d set the constable on the track -- there was no way they’d hide the carriage, even if they scattered. For now, he needed to take care of -- he assumed -- the frantic woman’s son.

Tony reined to a halt and threw himself out of the saddle. The boy was wearing smallclothes and nothing else, and his hands and feet were tied. “Hold still, I’ve got you,” Tony promised. He used the edge of the sword to saw through the coarse rope, freeing feet and hands and--

Tony paused an instant, blinking. Barely visible now, the boy was older than Tony had expected, a young man, pale and beautiful despite rain-matted hair and the violent shivering.

Shivering. Right. “Can you stand up?” Tony asked. “I’ve got my horse, we can make it...” He wasn’t going to make it back to the inn, not dressed like this, not even if he could ride well enough to climb up behind Tony. “Uh. Hunting lodge,” he recalled. “It’s not far from here, just over that hill. Which you probably can’t see because it’s dark, but trust me, it’s right there, not far at all. I’ll help you, all right?”

Tony shucked off his wool coat and draped it over the young man’s shoulders -- it might help, some. If nothing else, it would keep most of the rain off. “Come on,” Tony said. “Can you stand up?”

“C’n try,” the man said. His voice was rough, like he’d been crying. Or screaming. Tony wasn’t sure he’d blame the man for either. “My mother--” He peered into the darkness back the way they’d come as if she’d be there. “I was traveling with my family?” He clung to Tony with dirty hands, hauling himself upright, light colored eyes searching Tony’s face.

“They’re safe,” Tony said quickly. “Your mother and your sister, right? They’re safe, they’re at the inn. They sent me for you.” He slung an arm around the man’s waist to support him and led the way toward the hunting lodge. “Come on, we need to get you out of the cold and wet.”

The man nodded, trying to walk straight. He leaned heavily on Tony. “They took ever’thing,” he said. “Even my damn _boots_.” He spluttered, coughed, listed heavily to one side and then overcorrected.

Tony had a lot of practice helping men in their cups down the road; he’d had a lot of practice being _helped_ , staggering, while drunk. The whole situation was oddly familiar. They finally crested the little hill where the hunting lodge awaited. Dummy hadn’t been here for years, but the old boy knew just where the stable was; he shook his withers and trudged over to the shelter, reins still trailing along behind him. There was a key to the lodge tucked in the false bottom of the letterbox.

Tony opened the door and helped the man inside, all but dropping him on the nearest chair. “Wait here, try to get warm. I’ll...”

Tony had never started a fire in his life. He’d have to try; the lodge wasn’t manned. At least there was wood stacked neatly beside the fireplace. He stacked several pieces in the grate and found the firestarter.

He tried for several long minutes, achieving nothing besides a few crackling sparks and singed fingertips. Matches. There had to be matches here somewhere; enough of his fellows smoked pipes or cigars. He rummaged through drawers and baskets until he finally found a matchbox. “Ah-ha!” He lit a candle and carried it back to the fireplace.

The man had pulled himself up into the chair, Tony’s coat barely closing around naked knees. “You need tinder,” he told Tony, voice a harsh whisper. “Rolled up paper, or wood scraps. Start small, ain’t never gonna get it done like that.” He was watching Tony with silver-blue eyes, fingers near his mouth to catch the heat of his own breath.

Tinder. Right. Tony... should have known that, really. He found an old newspaper and rolled it up, tucking it under the fire grate, then used the matches to light it. “Sorry,” Tony said. “I usually have people for this.”

The man coughed, shivered. “S’all right,” he said. “Ain’t exactly in a position to complain. Where… where are we? An’ who are you?”

“We’re in Riker. The marquis’ hunting lodge.” A louder crackle emerged from the wood on the grate, and Tony watched it hopefully. “And I’m the marquis.”

“I’m grateful, Lord Riker,” the man said. “Can’t really repay you, but I am.” He shifted his eyes from one side of the little lodge to the other. There was a good sized parlor, where Tony and his hunting parties boozed and wenched, and sometimes actually went hunting from, and one bedroom. “Mr. Uh--” he coughed again, several times, pressing his hand to his chest “--Buchanan. Not exactly standing on the formal here.” He indicated his very underdressed self and Tony would be flat out lying to say he wasn’t noticing the amount of skin the man had showing, pale and perfect over lean muscle. “You can call me Bucky. My friends do.”

“Well, if we’re not standing on formality, then I’m Tony.” The fire was tiny, but looked like it had caught. “Come over here, try to get a little warmth,” he suggested. “I’m going to go take care of Dummy.” He grimaced. There wouldn’t be any feed stored here, but at least he could get the poor thing some water and a blanket.

“Thanks,” Mr. Buchanan croaked. He moved closer to the fire, passing close enough to Tony that he could hear the man’s labored breathing. He held out his hand to the fire and Tony’s jacket was barely covering him. Tony dragged his eyes away from Mr. Buchanan, and then his mind out of the gutter. He had work to do.

Tony found Dummy in the small stable, waiting patiently in a stall, head down with exhaustion. Tony petted the silky coat fondly. “Good work.” Cold fingers and wet leather made for slow going, but he managed at least to get Dummy unsaddled. He really ought to brush the poor creature down, but he didn’t know where the things were kept well enough to look for them in the dark. He managed to find a couple of heavy blankets and throw them over Dummy’s back, and fill up the watering trough from the surprisingly well-maintained pump. “Sorry, no dinner tonight, Dummy.” He patted the horse again and made his way back into the lodge.

“Feeling any better?”

Mr. Buchanan shrugged. “Feeling sick, but I don't know if that's cold or what. Tired. Dizzy. But I'm alive and ain't being held for no ransom or being beat on for not having enough wealth in my trunks. Guess that's an improvement. They get away?”

“I’m afraid so. Keeping you from freezing was a higher priority than catching them. But I’ll make sure the constable gets on it, first thing, I promise.” Tony watched Mr. Buchanan shivering. “You’re not really warming up, are you?”

Mr. Buchanan ducked his chin, and when he noticed Tony looking at him, blushed harder until his cheeks were poppy-pink in the firelight. “No, my lord,” he said. “Jus’ takin’ time, I guess. I don’t know how long I was in th’ coach, after they took m’ clothes.”

It was almost unbelievable that Mr. Buchanan wasn’t getting warmer, flushed as he was. It was damned appealing. Cute. With a dawning sense of wonder, Tony realized, “You’re a--” _Virgin_ was the first word that came to mind, but Tony hastily censored it. “--debutante.”

“Yeah,” Mr. Buchanan said. “My mother’s gonna have an entire cow over my not bein’ chaperoned proper.” He laughed, a little bitter. “I think th’ swell-- er, the peerage’ll make exceptions for kidnapping an’ robbery.”

“We’ll figure something out. But I think for right now... Hang on, there must be some clothes here you can fit into.” Tony took the candle into the bedroom and rummaged in the wardrobe. He didn’t find much that would fit -- Tony’s clothes were all tailored precisely, and Tony was somewhat smaller than Mr. Buchanan -- but he found a loose shirt and an old robe. It would have to suffice for the sake of modesty.

He turned around to find Mr. Buchanan hovering in the door. He offered Tony a shy, embarrassed smile. “Sorry,” he said. “Got nervous, bein’ by myself. Jumpin’ at shadows, I swear.” He shook his head, obviously ashamed, but not quite enough so to keep from following Tony around like a puppy. He glanced at the master bed with poorly disguised longing and stifled a yawn.

“Yeah, I bet you’re exhausted after all that,” Tony said. He handed over the shirt. “Here. If you’re willing to accept my word of honor that I won’t besmirch your virtue, we can both get some sleep. Body contact is warming, I’ve heard.”

Mr. Buchanan slanted a look at Tony from under ridiculously long eyelashes. “Besmirch away, jus’ don’t wake me up, we’ll be good.” He practically dove into the bed, burying himself under the covers. A moment later Tony’s jacket came out from under them, and he squirmed around, tugging on the shirt. _Definitely_ a virgin; there was no way to besmirch someone who looked like Mr. Buchanan without keeping them awake.

“It would take a worse cad than I’ve ever been to impose on someone who’s been through what you’ve been through today,” Tony said, and it was true enough. Beautiful as Mr. Buchanan was, half-frozen and still more than half in shock from having been robbed and kidnapped was not a state that was conducive to enjoyable bedplay. Tony shed his outer layers and slid into the bed beside Mr. Buchanan, inching closer cautiously. Even under the heavy quilt, Mr. Buchanan’s skin practically radiated cold. Tony inched even closer and curled an arm over his waist.

Mr. Buchanan tensed up, and Tony could practically feel the man’s brain whirling as he tried to decide whether or not to object, but a moment later, icy toes pressed up against Tony’s calf. It took a while to warm up, but Tony was most of the way asleep by the time they did.


	4. Tea Cakes and Sugar Lumps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bucky wakes up as the little spoon, makes tea, and notices that Lord Riker is unfairly good looking.

Bucky woke up with a start, inhaling sharply. There was a warm, heavy weight over his middle and… someone curled up at his back.

His heart was suddenly beating faster than normal and his breath sounded louder than it ever had in his life.

The person behind him didn’t move.

Bucky swallowed. Opened his eyes. There was a spill of dim, grey light coming from an unshuttered window, a wall he’d never seen before, and a blanket over him that was richly made, but smelled a little like dust and mildew.

He couldn’t remember where he was for a long moment.

And then his heart almost stopped because he was in bed with the Marquis of Riker! Ma was going to have a fit. The _duke_ was going to have a fit.

Bucky… considered having a fit. Then he threw up his mental hands. The marquis hadn’t hurt him, and had, in fact, been very solicitous of Bucky’s health and wellbeing. For a swell that didn’t know how to light a fire. Bucky almost laughed. The marquis had been gorgeously befuddled, staring at the fireplace like he’d never seen one before in his life.

He wasn’t sure how to get out of bed, however, with someone practically wrapped around him. He squirmed a little toward the far side of the bed, which got a sleepy sounding protest and the marquis cuddled closer, hand dropping low around Bucky’s hip and…

_Oh, god._

Yes, Bucky confirmed. Lord Riker had an erection. Not entirely uncommon for first thing in the morning, before waking up, but it was pressing firmly against Bucky’s thigh. And just the feel of it, the puff of air against Bucky’s neck, the warm, sweet smell of the man, was doing things to Bucky’s guts, twisting them together in a roil of heat and interest.

Not to mention the _hand_ on his _hip_.

The marquis was touching Bucky in places that no one had _ever_ had their hands.

Bucky found himself wondering if the marquis looked similar when undressed. Bucky knew what his looked like; he knew what it felt like, too, even though he wasn’t supposed to do that, especially according to the village pastor, who called it sin and a surefire road to hell, feeling lust when unmarried. Bucky and Steve had speculated sometimes about the pastor, who was unmarried and spent a lot of time expounding on how evil it was.

Bucky’s hand shifted, entirely without permission from his brain, wondering what it would feel like against his bare skin. He shivered suddenly, skin rippling with gooseflesh.

Sin. It’s _sin_ , Bucky thought. He was supposed to be pure for the duke, for his husband-to-be. Bucky didn’t have anything to bring to a marriage, no money, no status. The very least he could do was be untouched.

Very slowly, he moved away from the warm body in the bed with him.

The marquis’ hand slid down his backside as Bucky moved away, sending more shivers through him. As far as Bucky could tell, however, neither his crisis of conscience nor moving away had woken up the marquis. Thank God.

He crept out of the bedroom and went looking for food, or tea. Or even a glass and some water would be welcome. He had a terrible headache, and his mouth tasted like something had crawled inside and died there.

There was a kitchen, of sorts. But it was almost as empty and abandoned as the rest of the lodge.

No, wait, on the top shelf, it looked like -- Bucky stretched up on tiptoe and snagged a smooth-sided bamboo box. He pried the lid off. “Yes! Tea!” There was most of a black tea brick and some sugar lumps. Bucky absently stuck one in his mouth while he inspected the rest of the room for a kettle and cups, crunching the sugar between his teeth.

The kettle was still heating when the marquis came into the kitchen, his hair rumpled and a crease from the bedsheets on one cheek. “Morning,” he mumbled, and yawned. “I trust you slept well?”

“I slept,” Bucky told him. He offered the marquis the single jar of blackberry jam he’d found, which he was eating with a spoon. “There’s not much in here, but I’ve got tea started.” He had slept; filled with dreams of being alternatively cold and too warm, of being pushed and shoved and struggling with ropes that held his arms behind his back. He’d rubbed at the tender marks there, burn and scrapes. Not much he could do about them. The well, at least, had clean water, and he’d splashed some of the worst mud off.

The marquis took the jar and looked into it with something like amusement, then handed it back untouched. “I’ll eat when we’re back at the inn,” he said, then noticed the kettle on the fire. “We have tea? Well, that will be nice, before we go back out into the cold.”

Bucky took the jam back, trying to put it down unnoticed, feeling overly tall and awkward and gauche next to Lord Riker’s trim, neat appearance. Even after fighting with brigands and riding in the dark, the man looked like he’d just stepped out from behind a dressing screen, messy hair notwithstanding. Bucky tried to finger comb his own hair back into place but it was badly tangled and full of mud and twigs. He probably looked a fright, and why did he _even care_ about that?

The kettle whistled, interrupting his self-appraisal. Bucky filled the mugs with hot water, letting them steep and soak the bits of scraped tea brick, turning it into rich, black tea. He added three sugar lumps to his, and when he thought Lord Riker wasn’t looking, another three. He had a sweet tooth, he knew it, but sugar was dear and Ma rationed it strictly. He wrapped his fingers around his cup and took a sip of tea.

He thought he’d died and went to heaven.

He’d never had tea this strong before, this rich and almost creamy, even after years of neglect in a wooden box. He wondered if Lord Riker would mind if he took it with him when they left.  

Lord Riker added no sugar to his tea, but mumbled about the lack of cream, apologizing to Bucky for the lack of -- well, pretty much anything. “If I’d known I would be using the place, I’d have sent ahead to have it stocked and cleaned. But, well, any port in a storm, I suppose.” He peered out the kitchen window -- the sky was brilliantly blue. “Though it seems the storm has passed. I bet it’s colder than a witch's tit, though-- Oh, pardon the language.”

Bucky inhaled, then coughed and spluttered as warm tea went into passageways where it was not meant to be. He waved a hand in front of his face after he sneezed several times. “Don’t mind me,” he said. “I ain’t s’posed to say things like that, but I heard it before.” Lord Riker was very obviously _not_ a debutante. Must be nice, having enough money that one need not mind one’s manners all the time.

Surely it was just an expression, but Bucky found himself wondering who’d come up with it, and if they’d actually handled a witch’s breast before making the statement. Which led him to wondering, again, what Lord Riker might have felt like, under Bucky’s hand. Which… reminded Bucky that he didn’t have pants on, and probably should not be thinking about things that were going to get a rise out of him, out there where Lord Riker could see it.

Lord Riker seemed oblivious to Bucky’s thoughts, thank heavens. He finished his tea and then stretched magnificently, shirt riding up to show just a peek of well-muscled flesh.

Bucky jerked his eyes away as Lord Riker stood up. “Well, now that there’s a bit more light coming in, let’s see about finding you some clothes that will stand up to the ride back to the inn, shall we?” He smiled encouragingly at Bucky and made his way back toward the bedroom.

Bucky watched him walk and dear lord, that wasn’t a safe place for Bucky to look, either. The man’s hips swayed enticingly with every step. It was probably just as well that they’d get back to the inn and go their separate ways. Lord Riker was dangerous to Bucky’s peace of mind.

He followed Lord Riker into the bedroom. “Do you have family that will be worried where you were last night?”

Bucky’s tutor had despaired -- ever -- of having Bucky actually learn anything from Debrett’s, even though the book was one of the few current publications that the Barnes family kept, a list of the peerage, their relationships and their lands, but Bucky found it boring. Almost as boring as the list of begets in the Bible.

“Doubtful,” Lord Riker said. “My valet is probably thanking his stars for the morning off.” He gave Bucky a sly sort of smirk. “I’m terrible in the mornings, I admit it.” He went back to rifling the wardrobe. “But as the whole inn saw me ride off, we probably shouldn’t delay too much in getting back, lest they think the bandits bested me.”

“Thank you, again,” Bucky said. “Sorry to cause you so much trouble.” He was sorry he’d needed rescuing, too. It was a bit of a blow to his ego. And like to get worse; showing up at the inn with clothes that didn’t fit, and nothing to his name, people were going to wonder what had happened to him. His neck heated fitfully. There was nothing he could do about it now.

He would miss his viola. The only polishing he’d ever done that he enjoyed. Everything else he’d learned to be a good spouse and host and helper was an obligation. But playing? That had been something just for him.

Lord Riker waved a hand negligently. “Not at all. Apparently I’ve been unwittingly permitting highwaymen on my land. I’ll have to see to that.” He offered Bucky a waistcoat. “Here, this was left by a guest, I think. It’s certainly too big to be mine. See if you can wear it. Though I think pants may be a more pressing issue, really. You can’t ride out in just a shirt, not unless you want to start rumors of one sort or another.” He opened a drawer and began sorting through the contents.

Bucky blushed harder. “It’d be a real favor if you could, uh, not mention that? I’m still, well, eligible. Theoretically. I’d like t’, you know, stay that way.”

“My lips are sealed,” Lord Riker promised. “It certainly wasn’t your fault that they took you.”

No, but if Bucky wasn’t already promised to the duke, he was pretty sure Ma would be muttering under her breath that the marquis should be making an offer, after spending the night with her darling boy. Bucky was only her darling anything whenever she thought she could get some traction out of it. Usually, he was more aptly pegged as _that troublemaker_. She meant well, Bucky’s Ma did, but sometimes Bucky thought she could be just a trifle less dramatic. “If we’re very careful, my mother won’t insist you make a proper man of me.”

Lord Riker made a noise like something between a cough and a wheeze, and held up his hands. “I certainly will endeavor not to get either of us in trouble with your mother,” he promised. He held up a pair of breeches consideringly. “These might fit, try them and see.”

Bucky squeaked, turned around, and tried to step into the pants without showing off any more of his bits than he needed to. They were very tight, and he had to suck in to get the buttons fastened, and while horseback riding would probably be very unpleasant, they’d do. With the waistcoat buttoned over -- it fit perfectly, and was probably ten times nicer than anything Bucky’d ever worn before, with a soft, silk lining and fancy embroidery around the buttonholes -- no one would notice.

There were two pairs of boots in the wardrobe. “Your feet are _tiny_ ,” Bucky complained, holding up the boot next to his own foot. Everything about Lord Riker was just perfect and trim and shapely and made Bucky feel like an oversized oaf. On the other hand, Lord Riker would have fit very well under Bucky’s arm, and the same part of him that kept insistently remembering the feel of the man pressed against his back, wondered what it would be like to waltz with him.

Socks were easy enough, even if they stretched a bit thin over the arch. Lord Riker made a sound of triumph when he came back from the back door with a pair of ancient boots that had been ruined in a puddle, but would fit, and Bucky could manage it for a while.

Bucky didn’t look… _terrible_ in his mismatched clothing. He was certainly in no condition to meet the duke, so he would just have to hope that his Grace had pressing business elsewhere. He finger combed at his hair some more, until he managed to pat it down into a crude queue at the back of his neck. It made him look a little French, he thought.

“Well, I shall look well enough to see my mother,” Bucky said, still looking at himself in the mirror. They’d probably have to go into more debt, if they could even find a tailor willing to give them the time of day, before Bucky could be presented to his potential betrothed. He’d even lost the damn engagement ring, which would have been good collateral.

“I’ll be sure to introduce you to the tailor here in Riker,” Lord Riker said breezily. “He’s dressed me since I was a boy; I’m sure he’ll be delighted to put something together for you.”

“We don’t have… any money. Like, _none_. Those brigands took everything in the world we had,” Bucky protested. “ _Everything_. My… my father’s watch. All my sister’s watercolors. My viola.” The magnitude of just how destitute he was hit Bucky with the force of a cannonball.

“We’ll do our best to find your things. But you mustn’t worry about the clothes. You and your family will be my guests until you’re ready to continue on your way. I insist,” Lord Riker added when Bucky started to speak. “At least until your sister is quite recovered.”

Bucky straightened his spine, lifted his chin. “Very well,” he said. “I cannot begin to express my gratitude.” Ma would be practical about it, he thought. And once Bucky married the duke, he would have some pin money, he could make sure that Lord Riker was repaid. But if he wasn’t fit to be seen by Duke Stark, then they’d all be in a very bad situation. Bucky swallowed down his pride.

“No gratitude needed,” Lord Riker assured him. “It’s my responsibility to make sure this sort of thing doesn’t happen.” He glanced out the window. “I think we’d better begin our journey back. Are you ready? Can you ride?”

Bucky’s horse had been sold months ago.

He’d wept.

“I can ride,” he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Tea bricks](https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Compressed_tea) were the most common way to preserve and store tea up until the modern era. You can find pictures on Google images. Some of the bricks were quite artistic. A tea brick would then be scraped, rinsed, whisked and steeped before serving and several cups could be made by pouring more boiling water over it. A block like what Bucky found would have been about two and a half pounds of tea and contained almost 500 dry servings. (Bucky's family would reuse tea leaves a few times so we're talking about a year's worth of tea for a family of four.)
> 
> Most of the sugar Bucky would have seen came in loafs, a 2 pound pressed cone that was nipped into “lumps” of about 1 tsp each. Bucky drinks his tea ridiculously sweet with 1 or 2 lumps being considered “standard.” 
> 
> (Thank you for attending our tea lecture, which is hilarious because Tisfan doesn't like tea and 27dragons only drinks it when she has a sore throat.)


	5. Castles in the Sky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tony spends some time noticing how attractive Bucky is, keeps his promises, and makes some arrangements. And where Bucky tells some truths and some lies.

Having the young Mr. Buchanan pressed against his back for the entirety of the ride to the inn was something akin to torture. The boy was simply delectable, and Tony would have been employing his every wile to lure Mr. Buchanan into his bed, except that he’d given his word to preserve Mr. Buchanan’s honor.

He’d been hard-pressed enough to keep his hands to himself when they were in the lodge. Mr. Buchanan had been sweet enough to make tea for them, accepting the meager resources without even a word of complaint. And the way those old clothes fit, tight across Mr. Buchanan’s shoulders and backside -- Tony bit his lip in remembrance and reminded himself _not_ to get hard while on horseback.

Mr. Buchanan pressed close, shivering. _It’s only the cold_ , Tony told himself. As predicted, the morning was bitterly cold, and they hadn’t found an extra coat amongst the available items. That was all there was to it. Even if Tony had rather enjoyed drifting off to sleep with the young man in his arms, the young man in question was _not_ for Tony.

Tony had seduced a debutante or three in the past -- but never one whose entire hopes rested so utterly upon remaining eligible.

Ridiculous tradition, that. As if a person’s worth or suitability as a spouse could be determined by how many people they’d bedded. And even if they could, why was that worth different for those who were moneyed? No other reason than money, Tony knew. He was lucky enough to have some, but he couldn’t begrudge Mr. Buchanan playing by the rules that society had presented them with. He hoped Mr. Buchanan was able to snare a worthy peer for a spouse, someone who would treat him well.

And in the meantime, Tony could look all he liked while he kept the Buchanans as his guests. He’d have to call Rhodey in to act as chaperone, of course. They could probably get away with the one night, given the circumstances, but Mr. Buchanan really shouldn’t be left alone with anyone -- especially Tony -- for the rest of their stay.

Mr. Buchanan shifted against Tony’s back, his body moving effortlessly with Dummy’s gait. Tony could have sobbed. He forced his mind onto other issues so he wouldn’t think about the beautiful boy pressed so closely against him. He’d have to speak to Angie and Peggy about a suite for the Buchanans. And have a word with the tailor, though he’d need to be careful about that -- too much, and Lady Rumor would rear her head. The boy didn’t need that, not if he was trying to attract a well-to-do spouse.

Tony didn’t need that, either, not with his own promised groom on the way, due to arrive at Inwood Manor within the week. Not that Tony would be there. He’d have to send a note of apology, as soon as possible. He wasn’t actually sorry, but it seemed the sort of thing he was expected to do.

Mr. Buchanan shifted again and for a moment, his icy cold nose rubbed against the back of Tony's neck, breath moving the short hair at the base of his skull. “It's almost Christmas. Sure feels like we'll have a good snow before that.”

Damn and blast, Tony had forgotten Christmas. He was sure Jarvis would have arranged for the Christmas bonus for the house staff, but all the rest of it... _Bah and humbug_ , Tony thought. “It does smell like snow,” he agreed aloud. “What a nuisance.”

“When Stevie -- my friend back home -- wasn't feeling too poorly, we'd go sledding. There's a big hill back… where I used to live. I guess I won't get to go, this year.” He sounded sorry about that, like spending hours outside getting cold and wet was something he looked forward to.

“There’s hills here,” Tony found himself offering. “I’m sure we could find someone to loan you a sled, if you really want to go.”

“No fun to go alone,” Mr. Buchanan said. “But I’ll make do without. Steve gets sick real easy. Sometimes in winter, I just read to him. You know, just being there for him.”

“You must be a great comfort,” Tony managed. He couldn’t imagine sitting still long enough to read to a sick person. Of course, he couldn’t imagine not being able to summon a doctor any time one of his few close friends felt ill.

“Nah, he raises up a great tirade about it,” Mr. Buchanan said, huffing a laugh against Tony’s neck. “Thinks I shouldn’t waste my time, but what else am I gonna do? He’s all I got… or, he was. He’ll love hearing about this; I’ll write to him, soon as we get settled.”

“I hope you’ll describe it as a grand adventure,” Tony said. He grinned. “Do I get to be the dashing hero, then?”

“I don’t think I can find the words to describe you,” Mr. Buchanan said, honestly. “Stevie’ll never believe me if I try an’ tell him how handsome you are. Accuse me of spinnin’ castles in the sky.”

Tony laughed. “Careful, that’s the sort of compliment that might go to a man’s head.”

Mr. Buchanan made a scoffing sound in his throat. “Don’t need me t’ tell you. You got mirrors. An’ brave and generous and… I don’t know. Keep thinkin’ I’m gonna wake up with a big knot on my head, and my hands behind my back. You don’t seem the least bit real. Like something I’d make up in a fever dream.”

God, it was a shame that Mr. Buchanan was going to offer himself up as a sacrifice to the peerage. None of them would appreciate this charm. Tony wondered idly if he might be open to a dalliance once he’d gotten settled, wherever he was going. Bored spouses were among Tony’s favorite partners. The danger added extra spice.

“You’re lovely enough, yourself,” Tony said, returning the compliment. “Whoever lands you -- I hope they know how lucky they are.”

Mr. Buchanan shrugged, a ripple of movement against Tony’s back. “Not even. Look how unlucky I’ve been for you, and you’ve only known me a few hours. Think what chaos I’d bring to your household. Bandits in the kitchen and kittens under the beds.”

“You didn’t invite the bandits,” Tony pointed out. “And I happen to _like_ kittens. I don’t feel I’ve been unlucky at all. Quite the opposite, in fact. I look forward to furthering our acquaintance.”

“Me, too,” Mr. Buchanan said. He leaned his head against Tony’s back, arms tightening around Tony’s waist. It felt almost like an embrace, but the poor boy was probably still exhausted after his ordeal.

Another ten minutes or so, and the inn was in sight. Breakfast, coffee, and a _bath_. That sounded like Tony’s idea of heaven. A face peeked out the window as they rode up, and then Mr. Buchanan was sliding off the back of Tony’s mount before he’d barely brought Dummy to a stop, racing across the inn’s yard to embrace Mrs. Buchanan. “Ma, _Ma_ , it’s all right, I’m quite well, oh, Ma, stop, stop, it’s _fine_ , come on inside, I’ll tell you all about it. Where’s Becca?”

Tony absolutely did not watch Mr. Buchanan walk away just to enjoy the way those too-tight breeches hugged his ass and thighs.

***

“Can we have the private parlor for a moment?” Bucky asked, but he didn’t even look, hoping to hell that the innkeeper just nodded, because Ma was getting ready to have a complete breakdown, and Bucky was positive that she would both say things he needed for her to not say in public and be dreadfully embarrassed about it later. “Come on, Ma, let’s just… sit here, if you will, I’ve got you. I’m quite well, I promise. Safe and sound.”

He backed his mother up until her knees hit the small, red velvet fainting couch. Ma had never fainted in her life, but Bucky was fairly certain that if she was going to start, it was going to be now.

She kept reaching to pat at his shoulders and face and chest, her eyes searching his expression minutely. “James, oh, James, I was so frightened. You were _gone_ , and your sister in such a state, and those... those _ruffians_ \-- Did they hurt you, darling?” She touched at the edge of the bruise on his face.

“It’s no worse than any of the scuffles Stevie and I used to get up to,” Bucky assured her, although usually in those cases, he’d been able to hit back, which made quite a bit of difference, Bucky decided, in how much things hurt. “Ma, listen to me a minute. Have you told anyone who we are. Our name? Introduced yourself to _anyone_?”

She blinked at him in startlement. “I don’t recall. I was so frightened, and then I was taking care of Rebecca... The doctor asked about her history, but I don’t think he asked for our names. He said he’d come back in the afternoon to check up on her again.”

“Ma,” Bucky took her hand, patting it. “They took me, _specific_ , because I’m Stark’s intended. They was plannin’ to ransom me back to him. We gotta… look, Lord Riker’s going to guest us, as long as Becca’s sick, but I’m… Ma, I’m scared they’ll come back, if they know where we are. I told Lord Riker my name was Buchanan.” That wasn’t the entire reason; Bucky didn’t want to admit to Lord Riker that he was already spoken for. There was something dazzling and exciting in the man’s huge, dark eyes, the way his mouth tipped to one side when he smirked, the way he moved, that just… well, Bucky was going to be married and out of reach soon enough.

For just this little while, he wanted to be able to daydream.

But, he reasoned with himself, it was true. They’d thrown him in Riker’s path as a way to escape, but the bandits were obsessed with the idea of a ransom. He was pretty sure they’d try to come back for him, if they could. With Becca bedridden, that put them at too much risk.

“Oh,” Ma said, blinking owlishly. “Are you... Are you sure that’s best?”

“No, I ain’t sure,” Bucky said. Technically, he was supposed to be the head of the house, now that Dad was gone, but Bucky didn’t feel like he knew anything about how to be responsible for his mother, his sister, their safety. He was floundering badly and he knew it. “But what else are we going to do? Those men had _guns_ , Ma. I don’t want them coming here after Becca, or you.” He pressed his hand over his ribs, right where the one with the knife had threatened to stab him. There was a scrape there, where the blade had dug into his skin.

Ma’s chin wobbled, and then firmed. “All right,” she said. “I’ll be Mrs. Buchanan for a little while, peculiar though it seems. I’ll be sure to tell your sister, too, when she’s well enough to speak.” She held Bucky at arm’s length, then, looking him over critically. “James, _what_ are you wearing?”

Oh, god.

“Please don’t yell,” Bucky said. “Th’... this is _not my fault_.” He thought rapidly. Ma was not going to believe him that nothing happened once he was mostly naked; she listened to the village pastor too much. “They shoved me out of the carriage, when Lord Riker got too close, so they’d have time t’ get away. I fell right off th’ road and everything got filthy and torn. Lord Riker had some spares, at his hunting cabin, that he was good enough to lend me.”

“No wonder it all fits so... oddly,” Ma said, plucking at his sleeve. “But-- pushed out? Oh, my darling, are you sure you’re not hurt? We’ll have the doctor look at you when he arrives. You’re not dizzy or sick, are you?”

He didn’t remember much of the tumble from the carriage, just fear and trying to cover his head, and the horse dancing around in the mud, too close. “I’ll let th’ doctor take a look. I don’t think I’m hurt, but I wasn’t feeling at all the thing. Lord Riker took me to his hunting cabin, so we could rest. Felt pretty sick, then.” He dropped onto the floor in front of her and did something he hadn’t done in a long time, pushed up against her so she could pat his hair, and rested his head on her leg. He couldn’t _say_ he was scared. But maybe she’d know that he meant it, anyway.

“Oh, my darling,” she sighed, petting his hair. “It was all just terrible and awful, but everything will be fine, you’ll see. The doctor says your sister should recover with a bit of rest. And you say Lord Riker will guest us -- such a nice young man, we must be sure to thank him properly -- so we’ll soon be on our way, and this will be just a memory. You’ll see. The Lord provides.”

Perhaps, Bucky thought, but what, exactly, the Lord provided, that was often up for interpretation. “God never gives us more burdens than we can carry,” he said, dutifully. “I’ll see if I can get the innkeep to draw me a bath, and then we’ll sit with Becca?”

“Yes, I think a bath would be an excellent idea.” Ma tweaked his curls, as if he were a boy again, getting into scrapes that made her laugh as much as scold.

***

_Dear Steve,_

_Well, you said to write you everything, and while I thought it was mostly form, you’ll never believe what happened. A day’s travel out from the duke’s summer home, and we were set upon by bandits! I would never admit it to anyone else, but I’ll tell you, I was never more scared._

_We lost everything, even the books you drew in, remember the sketches you did of Heathcliff on the grave, and Gulliver’s Travels with all the illustrations? I’m heartbroken. They even took my viola and the horrible ring that Stark sent for me. Good riddance to that thing at least!_

_Rebecca was struck by the carriage when they drove it off, and we’re recovering at the Inn at Riker’s crossroads, so address any letters to me there. Which, by the way, I’m certain you noticed that the direction is from J. Buchanan._

_I’m having an adventure, just like we promised that we would, remember?_

_The bandits discovered that I am Stark’s intended, and attempted to kidnap me and hold me for a ransom. I can just imagine you shaking your head now and declaring that I’m worthless and someone should pay them to keep me. They’d have learned, soon enough._

_As it was, I was rescued by the most charming, handsome devil you could imagine. Lord Riker is all things delicious, with dark hair and beautiful eyes. If I was allowed to fall in love, I imagine you could hear the crash all the way in Brooklyn._

_But, given that the brigands escaped into the night, we are afraid they might come back to make a second attempt. Stark’s lands are beautiful and vast and his fortune must be very great. So we are laying low, incognito, in hopes that they will pass us by a second time. Address letters to me as Buchanan, that we don’t place my mother or sister in any additional danger?_

_I wish I had your talent for drawing, as I would dearly love a portrait of Lord Riker, that I could keep safe and tucked into a book for later perusal._

_Yours always, til the end of the line,  
Bucky_


	6. In the Best of Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Rhodey arrives and has suspicions, and Bucky's Ma has suspicions and absolutely no shenanigans are had. A pity, that.

Tony sent a message before he even ate and then rode out to meet Rhodey on the outskirts of Riker that afternoon. Dummy was moving sluggishly, still mad about having to miss a meal, even though he’d eaten his fill (and more) of the best the inn could offer as soon as they’d arrived that morning. But that was all right; Tony didn’t intend to do any racing today.

He grinned and waved as soon as he saw Rhodey cresting the hills. “Thank you for coming so quickly, my old friend. How’s Pepper?”

“Wondering what sort of trouble you’re in now,” Rhodey said. He patted his horse, a huge grey mare that looked like she’d be more at home behind a plow than wearing a saddle. “And also to tell your Grace that she’d appreciate it if you used some of your divine intervention to bring spring along more quickly this year.” That had been Pepper’s joke ever since Tony inherited the title, that he should use his ducal influence on the weather.

“Tell her I’ll do what I can,” Tony chuckled. “But she probably shouldn’t hold her breath.” He glanced at Rhodey sidelong. “I need you to be a chaperone.”

“Are you _courting_ , Anthony Edward Stark?” Rhodey leaned waaay back in the saddle, like he was trying to see the whole picture all at once.

“ _No_ ,” Tony stressed. “I am _engaged_ , I _told_ you that. To some friend of my father's, Barnes. This is a whole other kettle of fish. He’s _lovely_ , Rhodey, but he and his family were set on by robbers just outside the village and he’s had a hard time of it. Plus his mother’s a bit of an hysteric, I think. So he needs a chaperone to preserve his virtue.” Tony rolled his eyes; Rhodey already knew what he thought about that.

“So, I’m here to protect this _lovely boy_ from Duke Stark?” Rhodey shook his head. “You are a mess, Tones. Like, how do you even get involved in this stuff? Trouble magnet, that’s what you are.”

“I can’t deny that,” Tony said. “Though in Riker, it’s the Marquis of Riker title that holds all the weight, so you’ll probably get farther with the locals if you use that one. Look, he’s had a hard time, he doesn’t need reputation trouble on top of it all.”

Rhodey laughed. “You haven’t been Riker since you were knee-high to a squirrel, but a’ight. And you got me out of most of Pepper’s mom’s Christmas preparation visit. Pepper sees right through me, but Mrs. Potts, not so much. She’s very eager to have her son-in-law, so very important to the duke, to gossip about. So, I owe you like half a favor. I’ll call in the rest of it later.”

“Square deal,” Tony said, grinning. “You know I already owe you a thousand or so, anyway.”

“Knighthood, Tones,” Rhodey said. “You know, the next time you’re talking to the Queen. That’s the deal. Sir Rhodes. I like it.”

“For loyal and valorous service,” Tony agreed. “Bet Pepper’ll like it, too.”

They rode back to the inn in companionable silence, Dummy still acting like the put-upon packmule, all heaving sighs and barely lifting his hooves off the street. Once they were in the yard, Angie came out, shooing one of the stable boys off to tend the horses. “He’s waiting for you in the front parlor,” she told Tony. “And the doctor left quite a bill. I think the mother’s about to faint, the poor dear. We sent her back up to her room with a restoring drink. And Sheriff Coulson sent a messenger over, said he’d either be out this afternoon, or you could pay a call tomorrow for dinner.”

“Thank you,” Tony said gratefully. He caught up her hand and kissed her knuckles flirtatiously, as if she were a blushing debutante. “Whatever would I do without you? Are you sure you don’t want to run away with me and be my chatelaine and secretary? I’m sure Jarvis would be in raptures.”

“I’m sure he would,” Angie said. “The problem is more, what would I be? You’re ten pounds of trouble in a five pound bag.” She pretended to consider it. “Buy me a little chateaux up in the lake country, and I’ll consider it. I’ll still move in while I tell you no, but I’ll consider it.”

“She’s got your number, all right, Tones,” Rhodey said, clapping him on the shoulder.

“She always has,” Tony agreed. “Onward to Mr. Buchanan!” He led the way into the inn, waving cheerfully to Peggy and pushing into the front parlor. “Mr. Buchanan, I’m informed you were looking for me.”

“Not looking, exactly,” Mr. Buchanan said, “And call me Bucky, please. All the Mistering makes me feel like I’m supposed to be in charge of something, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that when a man’s mother is around, he’s not in charge of _anything_.” Mr. Buch-- or, Bucky, then -- was neat, tidy. He’d bathed, washed his hair and combed it into something resembling last year’s style. Tony recognized the coat he was wearing, something that had belonged to Peggy’s brother before he joined the army and was required to wear all red coats and white breeches. Ridiculous color choices, Tony always thought, as they made the troops stand out like targets. The breeches were still the ones Bucky had borrowed from Tony, the fabric straining to cover thick, muscular thighs.

“As you like,” Tony agreed. “You must call me Tony, then. And this is my dear friend, Colonel Rhodes. He’s agreed to come help us out with our bandit problem -- and, not incidentally, ease your mother’s mind by providing a chaperone of excellent character.”

“Colonel,” Bucky said, giving a very proper bow, graceful and elegant, although still a little stiff. He’d obviously been coached a few times on it, but it wasn’t yet _natural_. “My mother will be out in a moment, she’s with my sister. But she wants to extend her thanks, and…” Bucky waved a hand around, trying to indicate all the fluttering and fussing that mothers were known to do. Theoretically. Tony’s mother had been the epitome of everything delicate and charming, and Tony had never known her to have palpitations or conniptions of any sort whatsoever.

“She is, of course, more than welcome,” Tony said. “The sheriff invites us to dine tomorrow evening to discuss your travails, if you’d like. I’ll take you to the tailor myself this afternoon. Have you other business you should attend to?”

“Only I need to visit the post,” Bucky said. He picked up a few folded letters, waxed but not sealed. “To apologize to my host for being tardy, and give the direction to my friend, Steve Rogers. If I might impose on you for franking, at least--”

“Let me send them,” Rhodey offered. “One of my few military benefits; all my post is charged back to the army.”

Bucky bowed again. “Thank you, then.”

Rhodey didn’t even glance at the letters, just added his seal to the corner, and handed them back. The post was only a few buildings down from the tailor, so they could pass by, easily enough. It wasn’t the perfect weather for a stroll, but the village was hardly large enough to bother with a hired hack.

Mrs. Buchanan came out then, and Tony could see where Bucky had gotten his looks. She was a striking woman with thick, black hair that wound around her head several times before being pinned in place. “My mother, Winifred Buchanan. Ma, this is Lord Riker and Colonel Rhodes.”

Mrs. Buchanan offered her hand and Tony bowed over it dutifully. She had a more practiced grace than her son; perhaps she had begun with more status than she had now. “Mrs. Buchanan, I’m pleased to meet you. Your son has nothing but admiration for your fortitude in the face of yesterday’s dangers. I hope you are quite recovered?”

She glanced briefly at Bucky, but appeared to accept the statement as the pure truth. “Tolerably, Lord Riker, thank you. I’ll feel better when my daughter has recovered more. But the doctor...” She fluttered her hand a little, as if in need of air. “I hesitate to be so crass as to speak of financial matters, but those brigands took all we had of worth in this world. You must ask the doctor not to call again.”

“Nonsense,” Tony said. “As I’ve already promised your son, you are all my guests. I beg you not to think of the matter.”

“Ma, it’ll be fine,” Bucky said, placating her, soothing and soft, and in a hushed voice, as if Tony were not right there and perfectly capable of hearing every word. “We owe Lord Riker a debt of gratitude. Let’s not make him uncomfortable by bringing it up.”

“If you’re at all good at sports, Riker’s a good man for a race, or a bit of gamble,” Rhodey pointed out. “You could always win it off him. ‘Specially with that swayback old glue factory he insists on riding.”

“How dare you malign my precious Dummy,” Tony said, more amused than offended. “Just because I beat _you_ two trials out of three...”

“That was a technicality only, you rascal,” Rhodey complained.

Mrs. Buchanan shook her head. “Boys will be boys, I suppose, no matter their fancy titles. If you’ll excuse, my Lord, Colonel. I’m going to return to Becca. She’s got a terrible headache.”

Bucky leaned over and kissed his mother’s cheek. “Tell her I’ll be in for supper,” he told her. “Becca says I’m not being very restful, and she’s resenting that I’m up and around while she’s confined to her bed. Otherwise, she’s just as active as I am. A better shot with a pistol, too. Hard as it is to admit my fifteen year old sister can beat me at firearms.”

“Perhaps she and the Colonel should have a target match, when she’s up and about,” Tony suggested, grinning. “In the meantime, I’ll suggest a walk into town so we can drop off your post and visit the tailor?”

Mrs. Buchanan looked at the three of them suspiciously, then her gaze flickered down to the gold ring on Rhodey’s hand. “Very well, you may go. But only in town. No shenanigans, today.”

“Today, at least,” Bucky agreed, a charmingly innocent smile on his face. “I won’t worry you, Ma, promise.”

“Your son is in the best of hands,” Tony agreed with his most hapless smile. “By whose I mean the Colonel’s, of course.”

Bucky took Tony’s offered elbow as they left the Inn.

“I don’t think Mrs. Buchanan trusts you, Tones,” Rhodey said. “I can’t imagine why not.”

“Are you a _rake_ , Lord Riker?” Bucky asked, making his eyes wide and round with mock-fear. “Should I be worried?”

“Harmless as a kitten,” Tony protested. “You definitely should not worry. I only bite when I’m asked.”

Bucky laughed, cheeks flaring into color, his hand a warm spot on the inside of Tony’s elbow. Rhodey gave him a Look over Bucky’s shoulder, all skeptical eyes and raised brows, but Tony ignored him. He was chaperoning, and everything was just fine.

The post was slow, and Rhodey pulled Tony outside while Bucky stood in line to drop off his letters. “What are you doin’, man? You _like_ him. Already?”

“Have you _seen_ him, Rhodey? Of _course_ I like him.” Tony gave his friend a practiced leer.

“If you like ‘em tall and dark, he’s quite beautiful,” Rhodey agreed. “I prefer redheads. Just, be careful, if you please? This is the most eligible kid I’ve ever seen, and you shouldn’t ruin him just because you’re feeling restless. I know you, Tones, and I mean this out of only respect. I know, you want one last hurrah before it’s time to settle. I appreciate the sentiment, even. But not this one, Tony. Be his friend. He needs one.”  

Tony pulled a face. “If I intended to ruin the boy, I wouldn’t have called you, would I? I’m not an utter monster. I’m just trying to help.”

“If you hadn’t called me, that boy’s mama wouldn’t let you within twenty feet of him, and you know it,” Rhodey said. “Just making sure we’re all on the same page.”

Tony held his hands up as if at gunpoint. “I’m being good,” Tony protested. “Really.”

Rhodey made a noise in his throat that sounded almost like disagreement, but he let the conversation lapse. A long silence passed between them, and then he proceeded to tell Tony a long, involved story about some of the men in his unit and the terrible prank they’d played that had backfired, literally, even.

***

Bucky had never actually been to a tailor’s shop before. His mother usually bought his things ready-made, and then ran adjustments for him at home. What little of his clothing was new, at any rate. Most of his things had belonged to his father, and were altered to fit. They were near enough of a size, although George’s best colors made Bucky look sallow and like he’d contracted malaria.

This was an entirely different experience altogether.

The tailor had a whole ribbon full of color swatches that he held up, one at a time, under Bucky’s chin. Dragged him back and forth from a candlelit room and then into the sunlight from the window.

Lord Riker -- Tony, _Tony_ , Bucky reminded himself, although he’d only called one other man familiar in his life and that was Steve, who he’d known since childhood -- walked around the shop, examining the bolts of fabric and pointing out pages in the fashion books.

“I think he’d look quite well in this, don’t you?” Tony suggested, holding up one plate. “Are you sure you can have him fitted for dinner tomorrow?”

“It’s a simple evening kit,” the tailor said, although there were more parts and pieces and decorations on the jacket than Bucky’d ever had before. “And my eldest has just started working for the business. We’ll get it done on time. This one, at least. It might be a few days, if you’re going for the maroon. Laying out the braid’s not an evening’s task.”

Bucky thought about protesting; he really didn’t need three jackets, one in evening black, one in bottle green for an afternoon’s outing, and the rich maroon coat -- which would be perfect for a ball -- was really too much, but it was gorgeous, and Bucky kept coming back to the material to admire it. _Three_ jackets, which was two more than Bucky had owned before. There was a small part of him that wondered what Tony would be getting out of his generosity, and a rebellious part that shouted _let him ask a liberty_.

Bucky turned to look at the mirror while the tailor’s assistant pinned the fine linen shirt in place for alterations. He’d never owned anything so lovely. It would almost be a shame to refuse it. He glanced up and noticed Tony watching him in the mirror, eyes hot and intent. Bucky’s neck heated up and he wanted to squirm, but wouldn't allow himself the luxury. When Tony noticed him noticing, Bucky’s mouth curled up in a smile.

_Let him ask a liberty._

Tony’s mouth tipped up on one side, as if he could read Bucky’s thoughts, but his eyes slid to Colonel Rhodes and he turned away, asking more questions about materials and cuts. “Yes, the maroon,” he said. “Lord Barton told me he’s having a winter ball; Mr. Buchanan will need something suitable to wear.”

Bucky couldn’t help but smiling. He liked to dance. And, at a dance, he’d be expected to take a turn with his few acquaintances. “If I can secure an invitation, then yes, I should have a new coat.” Boots, too. God, he was going to owe _so much_. Boots were expensive.

“I don’t anticipate any problems there,” Tony said, and there was that smile again. “What do you think of the green?”

Well, Steve always said he was vain. “The green’s handsome enough,” he said, then fingered a rich, blue brocade. “I like this, better.”

“Hmm.” Tony stepped back. “You may be right.” He turned to the tailor. “You can make that happen?”

“For a friend of Riker’s,” the tailor said, measuring out a length of the brocade. “Assuredly.”

Bucky’s mouth twitched. It was nice to have rich friends. He ignored the worm of guilt and shame squirming around in his stomach. It would be fine. It was unlikely the match with the duke would fall through, and then he could repay the marquis. “Thank you. I hope I’m not being too forward,” he said to Tony, “if I secure the second two dances?”

Tony’s eyes lit up and he bowed elegantly, right there in the tailor’s shop, as if already on the ballroom floor and begging the favor of a dance. “They’re yours,” he promised. “But dare I ask for whom you intend to reserve the first?”

Bucky ducked his chin. “My mother likes to dance,” he said, a little bashful. He’d been mocked for it before, but Ma loved to dance, and his father hadn’t been much for the floor in years. Dancing with his mother usually got her away from the wall, and then someone else would ask her. It was a good plan.

“Charming,” Tony murmured, and his smile turned sweet.

Colonel Rhodes cleared his throat, but when Bucky glanced over at him, he was studying a book of fashion plates, seemingly paying no attention to them at all.

By the time they finished with the selection, the tailor had an altered pair of trousers finished and ready. It was a relief to get out of those overly tight breeches. Bucky thought he had a permanent crease in his middle from wearing them. Dressed and decked out, including a new silk top hat. Bucky’s hair was naturally curly and the look was quite astonishing.

He peered at himself in the mirror. “If Steve could see me now, he wouldn’t even recognize me,” Bucky said. Hopefully, in a day or so, he’d have a letter. He couldn’t wait to hear what Steve thought of his current adventures.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Franking refers to any devices, markings, or combinations thereof ("franks") applied to mails of any class which qualifies them to be postally serviced.
> 
> Members of parliament (like Tony in either his role as Duke or Marquis) can send government business related mail for free. Using it to send a personal letter is considered an expected abuse of the system. By the early 1800s, 1/3 of all British mail was being sent by franks.
> 
> As a soldier, Rhodey is also given franking privileges, and is expected to use it for personal mail. Using it for someone else is still technically illegal, but seldom actually enforced.
> 
> (In the USA, franking today is considered an advantage for the political incumbents who can send campaign flyers   
> without paying postage out of their donations.)
> 
> Under normal circumstances, Bucky would not have asked, but he is literally penniless.
> 
> Further notes: the cost of Bucky's clothing is about two to three pounds and considered about one season's worth of clothes. 12 to 20 pounds per year is fashionable for the upper class. Before Bucky's father lost their land, the Barnes annual income was about three hundred and fifty pounds a year. (About $30,000 a year in American money which looks very bleak for a family of four but consider that they don't have to pay for housing costs isn't too bad). They're still poor even with that income (for upper class/gentry). As a comparison, Mr. Bennett from _Pride & Prejudice_ had an income of 2,000 per year.
> 
> Jarvis, as the Duke's butler, would have an annual salary of about 80 pounds a year (meals, livery, and housing are provided) and Obie as the estate manager would have ish 300 a year plus a house provided to him by the Duke.  
> Thanks for attending my lecture about 19th century economics.


	7. An Invitation for a Little Sin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Steve doesn't lecture, Lord Barton doesn't win a game of darts, and Bucky doesn't get kissed in the corridor.

****“Excuse me,” Peggy, the innkeeper said, sticking her head into the small dining room. Bucky and his mother were just finishing their breakfast and Ma was lingering over tea. “The post came for you.” She held out two thick letters, one bound up with a piece of string and the other sporting the Stark family crest in rich red and gold wax.

“Stevie,” Bucky said fondly, brushing his thumb over the bow. “And the duke.” He tucked the letter from Steve into his vest, to read later. Steve would no doubt have many ridiculous and colorful things to say about Bucky’s adventures, and they were probably not things he wanted to read outloud to his mother. Nor did he want to answer questions when he couldn’t help but laugh out loud.

Ma waited until the door had closed behind Peggy again, but only just. “What does the duke say?”

Bucky used his pocket knife to slit the seal and unfolded the packet. “Nothing,” Bucky said, scanning the signature. “It’s from his chamberlain again. I--”

A flutter of paper sifted out and landed on the floor. Bucky bent to pick it up. He read that, then read it again. “ _Bastard_.” He practically threw it on the table, then went back to the letter. “Jarvis sends his sympathy for our injuries and ill luck, and, in light of his master being unavailable and on business, presumes to send us such gifts as might ease our way--” He snorted in disgust and gestured at the paper on the table. “--and hopes to see us as soon as may be.”

Ma looked taken aback. “James, I don’t know why you’re so upset. This is a blessing!”

Maybe it was because Tony had already bought him things, a fine coat and hat, and… at least Tony _looked_ at him. Saw him as a real person. “You don’t think it’s insulting?” He touched the cheque tentatively. Instructions to the local moneylender to forward the Barnes family a sum of two hundred pounds. _Two hundred_! Heaven forbid, it was nearly as much income as the family had in a year’s time from the rents and land management, before Bucky’s father had to sell. “He can’t even be bothered to take a personal interest in me, he sends everything through this _Jarvis_.”

“I’m sure the duke is an extremely busy man,” Ma said. “I think it’s generous and thoughtful of him to send money to replace our things that were stolen. And we won’t have to rely entirely on Lord Riker’s generosity! Darling, you’re being unreasonable.”

“I know,” Bucky sighed. “I know, Ma. I just… feel like a cow for sale, and not a person at all.”  

Ma reached over and patted his hand. “I’m sure things will be different when you actually meet him.” It was a lie, and even she knew it -- there was no such assurance to be had -- but at least it was a comforting lie.

Bucky nodded. “I’ll, um. Take care of this, get us set with an account while we’re here. Last thing we need is more folding cash to take a walk, right? Pay off the doctor, at least.” He wasn’t sure how to raise the subject with Tony, to repay him the tailor’s bill. Perhaps, while he was out, he’d see if there was a shopkeeper who might be able to obtain a viola, and some music. It was a gift, right? He should buy himself some things. And books. He missed his books.

He couldn’t sit still any longer, bid his mother good morning, and went to attend his business. He was halfway down the street before he remembered Steve’s letter and since he was headed to the bookstore anyway, he’d read it there.

The shop was filled with the lemon-vanilla scent of pages and leather on top. A few comfortable chairs lined the small fireplace, where bookshoppers could have tea and biscuits while perusing their selections.

Bucky nodded to the clerk, and sat down in one of the chairs to see what Steve had to say for himself.

_Dear Bucky,_

_When I said to look at this as an adventure, getting kidnapped is not at all what I meant! Glad to hear you came through safely, but I maintain this means that all the trouble we’ve gotten into over the years is squarely your fault._

_As for your description of the dashing Lord Riker -- I knew you were taking all the stupid with you, but really? On your way to meet your husband-to-be, you fall for someone else? It could only have been more ridiculous if it had been one of the highwaymen you’d taken a fancy to._

_Don’t worry, I’m not your Ma -- I won’t lecture. I’ve hardly room to cast stones, since I’m nursing a fat lip from stepping into a situation the other night at the pub. It was worth it, though; that girl plainly said she didn’t want to dance!_

_Nothing of interest is happening here. As usual. Tell me more about your trip, but for heaven’s sake, don’t have any more such adventures!_

_To the end of the line,  
Steve_

At the bottom of the letter, in the space left over, Steve had sketched a man on a horse, his face hidden by shadow, leaning from the saddle to catch a swooning Bucky. It was every bit as ridiculous as the illustrations in a penny dreadful, and Bucky caught himself smiling at it.

He used his pocket knife to gently cut the drawing away from the letter. He wanted to show the picture to Tony, but the letter was very private. He looked at it a few more times, brushing the horse’s illustrated flank with one finger before getting up to make his purchases. The cheque from the Ducal household cleared a few books at the shop -- a few old favorites -- and he tucked the sketch into a brand new story he’d never read: _Frankenstein, a Modern Prometheus_.

Bucky finished his errands, including ordering a ridiculously expensive instrument from the capital, to be delivered to him at Riker, and was on his way back to the inn when he saw Tony without his chaperone shadow. _Nice_.

“Hey, Tony, wait,” Bucky called out, waving, and hurried across the street. It was still cold, and the air was starting to smell like it might snow, so they couldn’t linger, but there was nothing to spread rumors from friends talking in a public street for a few moments. He gained the walk just as Tony reached the corner. “I was just thinking about you.”

Tony’s face lit up and he smiled warmly as he clasped Bucky’s hand. “Were you? Tell me what you were thinking.”

He tipped the small illustration out of the book. “My friend drew a picture of you, well, of _my hero_ ,” Bucky said. “I thought it might amuse.”

Tony took the bit of paper with a delicate touch, as if worried it might be fragile, then coughed out a laugh when he saw it. “If only the real thing had been half so romantic,” he said, still chuckling. “Your friend has real talent. Tell me he’s not wasting it making impressions for novels of dubious taste.”

“Steve takes what jobs he can get,” Bucky said. “He did a whole series of landscapes last year for a noble who wanted to redo her estate with some local color. She was trying to make Salem look like London. I understand the project flooded out.”

“That sounds... distressful.”

“For her, I imagine so. But the land looks like the land, you know? It's one thing to add fake ruins to your property, but artificial trout streams can't just be added because it looks pretty. You need to understand--” Bucky shut his mouth with a snap. No one wanted to be lectured about natural philosophy or annual rainfall. He'd thought the woman ridiculous, spending money to make the land pretty rather than productive.

“So you have some opinions on land management,” Tony said, eyebrow lifting. “That’s good, that’s important, especially if you’re planning to marry land.”

“Sure ain't marrying for anything else,” Bucky muttered, unable to stop the bitterness from leaching out. “Beg your pardon. I'm… I shouldn't say things like that.”

“No, I understand,” Tony said sympathetically. “It’s a ridiculous situation, having to choose a spouse based on some criteria that has nothing to do with whether you can even stand each other, reducing one of you to an ornament and the other to a banker’s account--” He cut himself off. “It seems I have some opinions of my own on the institution of _society marriage_ ,” he added with a wry smile.

“My mother married for love,” Bucky said. “She could have been a Countess. Do you know what she said to me, when she caught me with another boy? We were all of thirteen and just, you know. Being boys.” Bucky could never have told this story to the duke or to anyone else really. But it seemed somehow cheapened to hide it entirely. “She told me that love was the most perfect thing in the entire world. But that affection was desirable. And friendship was attainable with all but the worst of men. And that money was absolutely indispensable.”

“That’s sad. But she might have a point,” Tony admitted. “Distressingly pragmatic, but a point.”

“I suppose I shall attempt a friendship,” Bucky said, and he tucked the drawing back into his book. “There are worse fates.”

There was a long, awkward silence, before Bucky asked about the Sheriff, with whom they were meeting, and what he should say, having never given any sort of legal interview at all, and… matters turned to the practical, but when Tony offered his arm and Bucky took it, he found himself, once again, thinking that _desire_ might have rated higher on his mother’s list.

***

Tony knocked lightly on the door to the suite where the Buchanans were installed, rocking on his heels and humming lightly under his breath.

“Lord Riker!” Mrs. Buchanan exclaimed, pressing her hand to her throat, like she was actually surprised. Like he hadn’t knocked on the door at least once a day on any day that Bucky hadn’t been in the common parlor. “Do come in. Would you care for a bonbon? I do believe Jaime has every intention of buying every sort of pastry he can find at the local shops. A mission, one might say, to try them all.”

“It’s important to have goals in life.” Tony declined the bonbon but accepted the invitation to enter. “How is Miss Buchanan feeling?”

“Her head still aches if we have more than a single candle lit,” Mrs. Buchanan said, rubbing her hands together nervously, “and we discovered yesterday that she can sit up for almost an hour now -- we removed her in order to change the linens, even if she was vastly wearied after that. She can try to sit longer spells each day, now, a few times a day. But the doctor says she will probably be completely well in perhaps a fortnight. She’s young and otherwise in good health.”

“Lord Riker,” Bucky said, coming out of the back room, fussing with his cravat. He stuck with a formal address around his mother, who still sometimes eyed Tony with suspicion.

Tony’s hands itched to bat Bucky’s away and do the cravat properly, but that would definitely not help ease Mrs. Buchanan’s suspicions concerning Tony’s motives.

Truth told, Tony wasn’t even certain what his motives _were_ , any more.

“Mr. Buchanan,” Tony responded. “Your mother was just telling me that your sister was able to leave her bed for a short time yesterday. I’m glad to know she’s progressing.” Tony loathed small talk, but he’d been doing it for decades. It came easily, even if it bored him nearly to tears.

“I give her another week before she’s climbing out the windows and chucking things at me,” Bucky said, and then pretended to dodge a blow from his mother. She hadn’t, actually, swatted at him, but she did glare at her son.

“Rebecca is normally quite spirited,” Mrs. Buchanan said, with a note of apology.

“She’s a little hellion is what she is,” Bucky said. “What, Ma? She’s fifteen, it’s not like she was in the market to be the next marchioness.”

Tony coughed down a laugh. “Nor is the marquis likely to be in the market for a spouse anytime soon,” he mumbled, then turned his attention back to Bucky. “If you are still determined to attend the musicale with me, then we should depart soon. Colonel Rhodes awaits downstairs,” he assured Mrs. Buchanan before she could ask.

“You are not wearing that hideous pin,” Mrs. Buchanan protested, and made to snatch the cravat brooch away from him.

“I certainly _am_ ,” Bucky said. “I bought it, it’s very fashionable.” He dodged again, and ended up out in the hall on Tony’s far side. “Goodnight, Ma, I’ll see you after.” He snagged Tony’s elbow and made as if they were going to run for it.

“Good night, Mrs. Buchanan,” Tony said, letting Bucky pull him down the hall. “Rest well!” He could practically feel her eyes on them. He kept quiet until they’d turned the hall corner, then leaned to look at the offensive pin: a golden snake curled around an apple of ruby. “Well, it’s certainly unusual,” he said. “Are you inviting a little sin tonight, Mr. Buchanan?” He couldn’t quite help the flirtatious smile that tugged at his lips.

“Don’t tell Ma,” Bucky said, leaning in closer. “I won it from Lord Barton in a game of darts yesterday evening. I let Ma think I bought it. She doesn’t approve of gambling, or racing, or any of that sort of thing. I usually don’t let it stop me, but she’s fretful about Becca and I don’t want to give her any more reason to worry.”

Tony suppressed an absurd surge of jealousy, that Bucky would spend time with Lord Barton and not with him. He didn’t own Bucky, nor have any right to the man’s attention. Especially as Tony had spent the whole of the previous day touring the land, seeing to his oft-neglected duties as the marquis, and hadn’t had any time for entertainment. “An admirable goal,” Tony said. “And if you can best Lord Barton at darts, then I must remember not to play you myself. He’s quite skilled. Dare I ask what you might have lost, had Lord Barton won the match?”

“He wanted to cut in on your dance at his ball, next week, something about revenge for a ridiculously daring jump you took,” Bucky confessed. “But don’t worry, I wasn’t going to let him.” Bucky gave Tony an almost overblown look, full of batting eyelashes and sly smiles that might have been ridiculous, except for how sincere he appeared, and how wide and beautiful Bucky’s silver-blue eyes were.

“I should think not,” Tony said. “I shall guard the privilege of that dance most jealously.” God, he wanted to push Bucky up against the wall and kiss that sly smile right off those lips, roll his body against Bucky’s until they were both panting for breath and desperate for more.

A throat cleared at the bottom of the stairs. “Are you two coming,” Rhodey wondered pointedly, “or am I attending this thing by myself?”

Bucky’s gaze stuttered up to Tony’s eyes, then dropped, as if by accident, to Tony’s mouth. His tongue darted out and wet his lips as if he knew exactly what Tony had been thinking and didn’t object one bit.

“Of course, Colonel Rhodes,” Bucky said. “Tony was only admiring my new pin.” He practically skipped down the stairs, giving Tony a very interesting view as he went. “I can’t wait for the musicale. It’s been forever since I heard any music. Do you know what they’ll be performing?”

“As long as they perform it adequately, I’m sure I don’t much care,” Tony said candidly. The musicale had come up during their dinner with Sheriff Coulson, and Bucky’s enthusiasm had been so infectious that Tony had found himself promising to go, despite his initial goal to keep his socializing to an informal minimum. He hoped the performers would not give him reason to regret that change of heart.

If nothing else, he’d be able to sit in a darkened room, with Bucky to one side of him, and feel the press of the man’s leg against his own. That had its own appeal.

Of course, Tony also had the distressing experience of watching Bucky socialize. As a new face -- and quite a pretty one -- his acquaintance was eagerly sought and half the eligibles in the room were fancying themselves desperately in love after only a few words.

Bucky himself practically glowed like a star under all the attention. He’d make someone a fine society spouse, graceful, charming, funny. Just rude or risque enough to get a laugh and a blush, but not enough to actually offend. He seemed to take an actual interest in _people_ , asking after hobbies, discussing books, offering a few pointed political opinions.

He admired the dresses or waistcoats of nearly everyone, and finding compliments that seemed to be both personalized and sincere to give to everyone with whom he spoke.Rhodey, who’d watched all that with an amused expression, offered Tony a glass of truly horrific watered down cream sherry punch. “He won’t last long, once he’s on the market. Someone’s going to snatch that up faster than you can blink.”

Tony tried not to let his expression give away his feelings. He doubted anyone else saw anything but the smiling marquis, but Rhodey had known him for years. “More power to him,” Tony said, and tried to mean it.

Despite fluttering around like a rare social butterfly, and no doubt, getting a handful of invitations to sit elsewhere, Bucky returned promptly to Tony’s side as soon as the lights were brought down to begin the show.

The quartet consisted of two ladies in pale dresses, a third wearing a suit cut in a very masculine style, and a piano player with very bushy sideburns. They weren’t the best performers Tony had ever seen, although the woman in the suit had an interesting voice, like sweet wine poured over gravel. Bucky, however, was enraptured, leaning forward as if he could hear better in those few inches. His mouth quivered with excitement, and sometimes his lips moved as if he were singing along silently. His fingers tapped against his thigh, and at each break in the music, his applause was unrestrained.

“It’s lovely, don’t you think?”

 _I think you’re lovely when you’re like this_ , Tony thought, but all he could do was smile encouragingly and nod.

When Bucky leaned back again, his fingers brushed over Tony’s knee and along the back of Tony’s hand before Bucky returned to a proper seated position, just a little thing, not that anyone would notice.

Tony wasn’t even sure if it had been on purpose. No, it had to have been. The way Bucky kept _looking_ at him, flirting and teasing... Tony forced his focus back to the music and concentrated very hard on the the piano player’s sideburns, because he absolutely did not need to stand up at the end of the recital to display an erection.

But flirting aside, Bucky’s enthusiasm for the music seemed utterly genuine. Tony longed to take him to bigger, better recitals, show him music that was actually worth hearing.

The night drew to a close and they walked back to the Inn, Bucky leaning close to him for warmth and talking about the music with glee. He knew enough about music to point out that the cellist had flubbed everything in the third movement, doing almost nothing but pretending to draw her bow across the strings, but also recognizing that the violinist had quick fingers and more than adequately made up for the lack. He hummed a few lines of the song, note perfect.

Finally, when they arrived at the Inn, he turned to Tony. “Thank you for a lovely evening,” he said. “Ma wished me to ask it, you’ve said you don’t have family, but of course you probably have other plans. This is the first year we’ve ever been away from home during the Christmas season, and she wondered if you might not make a fourth at the table? Becca will be well enough, we hope, to sit ‘round the tree for a bit, and then have dinner. I should… very much like your company. And I… uh, have a gift for you. If it’s not too bold.”

Tony could only stare at him for a moment. He didn’t normally bother with Christmas, aside from obligatory gifts and attending a few equally-obligatory functions. But he was drawn to Bucky like nothing else had ever attracted him, and if he could not (would not) seduce the young man into a dalliance, then he was determined to earn Bucky’s friendship, at the least.

“I. I would like that, I think,” Tony managed when he’d found his tongue. “Thank you.”

“Great. I’m looking forward to it.” Bucky shook Tony’s hand, letting his fingers linger in Tony’s palm a moment, and then was gone upstairs.

Rhodey, thank Christ, didn’t say anything about it. His lifted eyebrow implied plenty, but at least he wasn’t forcing Tony to talk about it. “I will not be having Christmas with you,” he said. “I will be going home to my lovely wife and her slightly less lovely mother.”

“I’m sure Mrs. Buchanan will supply all the necessary chaperoning,” Tony said mildly. “But I’ll be sure to send some gifts home with you.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember my lecture about economics? Jarvis, acting in Tony's name, just sent Bucky's family about $16,000. Tony, as Lord Riker, gifted them about $500 and they were very grateful. Yes Bucky is insulted! He basically asked for cab fare and got given a car.
> 
> Keeping in mind that the Duke would be worth about 16 million pounds or 500,000 per year (16 mill net worth in the four percents rounded down) or about $40 million per year in today's value. The current Duke of Cromwell is valued at 1.3 billion pounds. Even comparatively, this is weak sauce for Tony Stark's 12 billion dollars.


	8. The Recognition of Desire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which gifts are exchanged, church is attended, and mistletoe is spotted.

****

Tony found himself once again at the door of the Buchanans’ suite, this time dressed for an informal family gathering and carrying a small stack of parcels.

This was going to be a delight or it was going to be a disaster, he thought, and knocked.

Bucky opened the door wearing the blue brocade. It made his eyes shine like diamonds. “Happy Christmas, Tony,” Bucky greeted him warmly. “Come in, do, please.”

The small front parlor that connected the suite of bedrooms was decorated with a few paper chains and popcorn strings. A table-sized tree was dotted with cut paper snowflakes and a few yarn snowmen. “My sister’s been dreadfully bored, contained to bed, so she took on making most of the decorations. I wasn’t entirely sure what we were going to do with them all.”

“You seem to have managed well. It looks very festive,” Tony said. It did. It looked festive and much less pompous than the decorations that usually festooned his grand hall at home. Maybe next year he’d put Jarvis to work with paper strips and a pot of glue. The thought made him smile, even if Jarvis would never stand for it. He held up his parcels. “I have gifts for you all; where shall I put them?”

“Here, here,” Bucky said. He took several off the top and dropped them gently next to the tree. “Ma and Becca -- Rebecca -- will be out in a moment. Becca’s fussing over her hair. I thought, if you don’t mind, we might go to church after presents and tea? Christmas service is always pleasing, and I think I should get right with God at least once a year. Ma and Becca won’t be able to go.” There was just the flutter of one eyelid, as if Bucky was winking at him.

“I... Certainly,” Tony half-stammered. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been to church. Probably his parents’ funeral. And before that... He wasn’t sure. But he was unlikely to be struck with lightning for passing the threshold for Christmas service. “That sounds nice.”

Mrs. Buchanan came out, holding her daughter steady. Miss Buchanan was just as handsome as her brother, with thick black hair and pale skin. She was leaning heavily on her mother and didn’t remain standing after introductions, begging Tony’s pardon and sitting down close to the fire.

Bucky sat down on the floor next to his sister’s chair and dragged over a tattered looking stocking, stuffed with oranges, nuts, and horehound candy, offering to peel the orange for her.

Mrs. Buchanan took the chair on the other side of the fireplace. “Please have a seat, Lord Riker, we’re not much for formality today. We’re so pleased you could join us.”

Tony sat on one end of the small sofa and gave Mrs. Buchanan his most charming smile. “It’s I who am pleased by your invitation, ma’am. I’m flattered to be included. And I’m most pleased to see you so much improved, Miss Buchanan.”

“Being injured is so stupidly boring,” Miss Buchanan complained. “No one lets me do _anything_. When you find those bandits, Lord Riker, I am personally going to take a horsewhip to them.”

“Rebecca!” Mrs. Buchanan protested, fanning her hand in front of her face. “Watch your mouth.”

“It’s no good, Mama,” she said. “My nose gets in the way.”

Tony chuckled. “I doubt the constable is likely to allow you to have a hand in their punishment, but we’ll endeavor to see that they are made well aware of your displeasure.”

Bucky passed around gifts, probably to keep his mother from fussing at his sister, until everyone had a tidy little stack in front of them. “Tony goes first, he’s our guest.”

Tony picked up the gift in front of him and untied the ribbon. “Thank you, truly,” he said. When was the last time he’d been given a gift that didn’t have strings attached? He folded back the thick paper to reveal a book. “Frankenstein,” he read aloud. “I’ve heard of this! I’m looking forward to reading it.”

Rebecca was not a restrained gift opener, tearing the paper with glee and demanding that everyone admire her gifts: a music box, a box of bonbons, some ribbons for her hair, and a silvery foxfur muff.

Bucky, on the other hand, opened his gifts delicately and slowly, in a manner that drove his sister completely crazy. The smile on his face suggested he was going about it so carefully _because_ it sorely tried her patience. He exclaimed over the cravat pin Tony got him, taking the old one out and replacing it promptly, fingers running over the twisted knot, lightly studded with sapphire chips.

“Oh, how…” Bucky flipped through the sheet music, a copy of each song performed at the musicale, eagerly. “How did you know?”

“You said your viola was lost to the bandits, so I knew you played.” Warmth filled Tony’s chest at Bucky’s bright pleasure at the gifts. “Hopefully, we’ll recover it, or you’ll be able to replace it.”

“That’s… what I meant,” Bucky said. He touched the largest gift. “I uh… sort of bought myself a present.” With a quick snap, he flipped open the box, pulling out an instrument. “It arrived yesterday.”

Tony laughed. “How fortuitous! Well, now you’ll have something to play.”

“I’ll practice,” Bucky promised. “Not today, though. I haven’t played in a while, I wouldn’t want you to have to suffer through my scales.” Bucky checked the clock on the mantle. “We’ll be back in an hour or so, Ma.”

Mrs. Buchanan frowned at him. “No chaperone?”

“Ma, it’s _Christmas_. We’re going to _church_. I don’t think you need to worry that Lord Riker’s going to run off with me.”

“On my honor, ma’am,” Tony promised, “straight there and straight back.”

“Very well, but only because it’s Christmas,” she conceded. “Right there and back again.” She shook her finger at Bucky sternly. “And not a minute late.”

“Yes, Ma,” he said, and bent to kiss her cheek.

***

The churchbells were ringing out and there was snow. Not much -- it was just starting to fall -- but it glittered in the air like stardust, lining the streets with soft, white powder.

Bucky kept his fingers tucked in the crook of Tony’s elbow, and Tony reached over from time to time and patted Bucky’s hand. There were other families out, all headed toward the church. Couples and young kids. Elderly parents who shuffled slowly, and teenagers who ran, shrieking in excitement, to talk with their friends.

Church on Christmas was more about love and family and joy than sin and damnation. Bucky vastly prefered it. Tony -- and perhaps Bucky as well -- garnered some looks. Perhaps Lord Riker was not a regular church-goer. Or at least, not here. Bucky wasn’t sure if Riker had a manor house and that Tony just prefered the inn, or what. It hadn’t come up, and Bucky didn’t want to suggest that Tony leave. Bucky had gotten used to having breakfast casually with the man, sitting in the dining parlor. Reading the paper while Tony carried on his correspondence. It was… comfortable.

“You look like you’re thinking of something happy,” Tony said, squeezing Bucky’s fingers a little.

“I was. I mean, I am,” Bucky said. “Thinking how nice this is, Christmas and snow and good company and… just wishing it could always be like this.” It wouldn’t be, he knew that.

Every day that passed, each day that Becca got better, was one day closer to the end.

But Bucky wasn’t going to think about endings today. Today was just… Christmas. And he was going to enjoy it.

The church was warm and cozy, with bright, polished wooden pews. The air was thick with perfumed incense from silver braziers. The clergyman was less stuffy and pompous than most of his breed, talking about joy and hope and forgiveness.

And the singing…

Bucky loved to sing, and the entire congregation made up the chorus. They sang Bucky’s favorite, the _Angelic Hymn_. It wasn’t until halfway through the doxology that Bucky realized that the churchgoers near them had fallen almost silent, listening to him carry the Latin forward.

“ _Domine Deus, Agnus Dei, Filius Patris, qui tollis peccata mundi, miserere nobis_.” Have mercy on us, you who takes away our sins.

Tony was watching him with shining eyes and a small, proud smile that filled Bucky with warmth. “You didn’t tell me you could sing so beautifully,” he murmured when it was done and the congregation were taking their seats again.

Bucky’s neck heated. He had been showing off, maybe. Singing for his own glory, rather than God’s. God would understand, though. It wasn’t like the music was _worse_ , for being more for Tony’s ears than God’s. Back when Bucky had been much younger, before Dad had gotten involved with Baron Hammer and there’d been money, Bucky had gotten lessons from a former opera singer. “I like music,” he whispered, although Tony knew that already. “Used t’ sing for Stevie a lot. When he was painting, an’ stuff.”

The clergyman picked up the Book again, and read some passages from the gospels of Luke. Bucky was probably committing some irredeemable sin, but he pushed his ankle against Tony’s, feeling the heat of the man’s skin through his trousers. He turned his attention pointedly toward the front of the church, but in reality all he was aware of was that point of contact.

Tony glanced at him sidelong, then looked back to the front, but he shifted restlessly in his seat until his arm was pressed against Bucky’s, a line of warmth and pressure that seemed to ease something tight in Bucky’s chest.

***

Tony wasn’t one for church, but the Christmas service had been moving. In more ways than one; Bucky had a voice beautiful enough to break his heart -- and then the minx had spent the rest of the service flirting aggressively. Tony had been determined to leave Bucky’s honor intact, but Bucky was apparently bound to drive him mad with wanting.

The brisk, frozen air and sharp sting of falling snow as they left was a blessing on his overheated skin. He gave Bucky his arm and tried not to notice that Bucky was pressed far more closely than the chill of the weather -- or propriety -- allowed. They would be chaperoned again very soon, and Tony could not deny himself this moment of closeness, not when Bucky so clearly cherished it as well.

The gaggle of children that ran past had no patience for the slow stroll of their elders, shouting and laughing as they scraped together snow to throw at each other and paying no heed to the calls of their parents. In the midst of a tussle, two of them ploughed straight into Tony’s side, knocking him and Bucky sideways into a shopfront.

The children were gone already, shouted apologies swirling away on the wind, by the time Tony caught his balance. “Are you all right?” he asked, reaching for Bucky’s arm.

Bucky’s hat hadn’t made it through the melee, knocked off his head. A light fall of snowflakes dusted his hair and clung to his eyelashes. His gaze flickered up and then, “ _Oh_.” His breath sped up and his tongue darted out to wet his lips. Tony had seen enough of desire to recognize it, even if, perhaps, Bucky didn’t. He followed Bucky’s gaze upward to where a sprig of greenery hung, dotted with tiny white berries.

Mistletoe.

Before Tony could even think, much less remind himself of his promises, he was leaning in, his body pressing Bucky’s back against the shop door, body heat discernible even through the layers of their clothes. His lips met Bucky’s once, twice, a third time, more chaste than he wanted, his tongue barely tasting Bucky’s lip.

God, he wanted to plunder that sweet mouth, to hear what that gorgeous voice would sound like when raised in ecstasy, to feel that lean body arching under his--

More laughter and shouting in the street behind him recalled Tony to his senses. He stepped back half a step, searching Bucky’s expression.

“Oh, oh, _God_ ,” Bucky said, his hand going up to touch fingertips to his lip. He didn’t sound like he was cursing, or even crying out with bliss, or any of the normal reasons people took the Lord’s name in vain, but like he was actually _praying_. Tony might have felt guilty, as Bucky was so desperately, obviously virginal, and he might well pray for the sin of falling to Tony’s wiles, except for the way Bucky _looked_ at him.

Like Tony was the very center of the universe, the brightest, most glorious star. Bucky sucked his bottom lip in, tasting the remnants of Tony’s mouth. He unconsciously leaned forward as Tony leaned back, chasing the kiss down, and his hand closed on the lapel of Tony’s coat. He barely tugged at it, drawing Tony back to him. A faint, whining sound came out of Bucky’s throat. “ _Tony_.”

 _I’m sorry,_ Tony wanted to say, but he wasn’t, not at all. Sorry only that he couldn’t take Bucky back to his rooms and strip him down, treat him with all the reverence he deserved. Tony wanted Bucky more than he’d ever wanted anyone.

And yet Tony was promised to another, and Bucky deserved more than to be used and then set aside. Tony drew a deep breath, letting the icy air fill his lungs and bank his passion. “Straight there and straight back,” he said, though it pained him to say it. “We did promise.”

Bucky nodded, still chewing on his lip. He didn’t take Tony’s arm, and didn’t look at him, the entire walk back.

***

_Dear Steve,_

_I missed you desperately at Christmas. It wasn't the same without you at all._

_Becca continues to recover, more slowly than she would like, but steady. Ma is getting nervous that we continue to put off going on to Inwood, but the doctor advised against moving her just yet. If it weren't for the duke’s continued absence, I think she would send me on alone._

_She may, still, as I think she suspects my feelings are not tranquil regarding Lord Riker._

_I cannot say if he stole a kiss or if it were willingly gifted. It doesn't matter, I suppose, given that I would eagerly do it again. The very moment his lips touched mine, he took all of my heart._

_I wish I could clutch my chest and declare that I have no idea what I will do, except I do. I shall leave Riker and marry the duke and spend the rest of my life regretting it._

_Riker has said nothing of wishing anything -- he’s been outspoken against society matches -- and much as I would willingly surrender to him, I cannot. There is more at stake than what I want._

_I wish you were here to tell me what an idiot I am._

_I wish I were anyone else but who I am._

_Yours until the end of the line,_

_Bucky_

 


	9. This One Perfect Moment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The mail arrives. Apologies are given. Dances are claimed, regrets are not voiced and a little secret is shared.

_Dear Bucky,_

_What a tangle. You really went and fell for this guy, I guess. It all sounds very romantic, but don’t forget, if he’s not offering anything more than a fling, then at the end of the day, he’s just some swell. And a rake, besides. Be careful how much you give him!_

_Honestly, how do you always end up making things so complicated for yourself?_

_Missed you at Christmas, too. Caught my annual fever and was in bed for the best part of a week. I missed you reading to me and nagging me to drink my broth. And I missed you telling me about the church service. Wish we could have been together._

_But at least I got a new painting started, the church bells ringing in the starlight._

_To the end of the line,_

_Steve_

Bucky folded the letter and stuffed it back in his vest pocket. “Did he really say that?” Bucky, the troublemaker? Right. Like Steve wasn’t always getting into fights and disputes, losing jobs, because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut for _five seconds_? Mr. Pot, should you like to dance the quadrille with Ms. Kettle?

Bucky had managed to avoid Tony -- or perhaps Tony was avoiding him, it was hard to tell -- since Christmas. Embarrassed about how he’d practically thrown himself at the marquis, or afraid that he’d say yes to whatever Tony asked him to do.

It was a tangle, that much Bucky would grant.

He would have sworn off Lord Barton’s ball, except before everything went and got itself all complicated, Ma had promised Becca she could attend. Only for a few hours, and it wasn’t like a _coming out_ , but it would be Becca’s first society function. She could dance a few dances, as long as she stood up with her brother in the same line.

Even as confused and confounded as Bucky was, he was hardly the sort of cad to deny his sister any amusement of the sort. So they’d go. He’d drink punch and dance a few times, and if he couldn’t get out of his obligations with Tony, maybe they could cut the evening short.

If Tony even wanted to dance with Bucky anymore.

 _It would help,_ Bucky cursed himself _, if you’d decide what you wanted. Do you want to dance with him, or not?_

“God forgive me,” Bucky said. “ _I want to_.” He ran a hand over his hair, ending with a squeeze at the back of his neck. He didn’t know if he’d made a decision about the bigger picture, but for the night, he’d attend the ball. Dance with his mother, his sister. Tony.

Anyone who asks, Bucky promised himself.

Maybe it wouldn’t mean as much, if he danced with a dozen others.

That was such a lie. It would mean _everything_ to Bucky, just holding Tony’s hand, the feel of their bodies close together on the dance floor. Looking into Tony’s amber dark eyes, the way the man smiled with his entire face.

_You really went and fell for this guy._

“Yeah, Stevie. Yeah, I did.”

Bucky drew on the maroon jacket, smoothing out the collar. He’d taken particular care with his appearance, hair immaculately styled and fashionable. The cravat pin Tony had given him nestled in the froth of lace at his throat. For just a moment, Bucky imagined it: what it would be like to get ready for an evening’s entertainment, with Tony as his husband. Would Tony fuss over Bucky’s hair, his cravat? What would Tony’s cologne smell like as Bucky bent to accept his husband’s kiss?

“It’s not going to happen that way, Barnes,” Bucky told himself. “Get over it. Get over _him_. You don’t have a choice.”

Bucky couldn’t meet his own gaze in the mirror.

“James, are you going to make us late?” Becca tapped on his door.

“No, Rebecca,” he said, because of course he had to give his sister her full name, if she was going to do the same to him first. “I’m ready.” He paused to look at her. “You… look nice.”

That was grossly understating it. His baby sister looked all grown up, almost ready to take suitors of her own. Which is why Bucky was marrying the duke, he reminded himself. If Bucky couldn’t make himself happy, he would at least make sure Becca got everything she ever wanted.

“Thanks,” she said, smiling cheekily. “You don’t look half-bad yourself. Mama will have a time of it, beating off our suitors.”

“You sure you’re up for this?”

“If you or Ma baby me for any longer, I shall have to emulate Elizabeth Bathory, and bathe in your blood while you’re still virginal.”

“ _Becca_!” Bucky couldn’t help but choke out a horrified laugh. “No one is ever going to marry you if you go on like that!”

“Such squeamish suitors are hardly worth my bother,” she said, tugging at the strategic curl that was loose along the side of her face.

“You are a disaster waiting to happen.”

“And you love me anyway.”

“And I love you anyway,” Bucky agreed.

Barton’s estate was somewhat outside the village, and they’d hired a hack carriage to make the trip. It wasn’t until they arrived at the ballroom and Bucky looked around that it occurred to him that _Tony_ might not attend. His stomach sank like a stone.

But no, there he was, chatting with Lord Barton on the far side of the room. He was dressed in a red velvet jacket with a deep gold waistcoat, his hair tied into a neat queue, his face perfectly shaved. There was a smile on his lips that didn’t seem quite right, and a glass of something that wasn’t champagne in his hand.

Bucky gave a greeting to Miss Kate Bishop, Lord Barton’s ward, who was serving her duty as hostess for the evening. Was stopped twice on his way across the room, for requests for later dances. Bucky fumbled with his dance card, a packet of onion-skin pages in a silver folder  bound to his wrist. He was going to accept every offer to dance. He was going to enjoy himself.

They made their way to the tables, and Bucky got his mother some wine and his sister some lemonade, and then returned to get himself a glass. The musicians were still warming up in the corner, a string quartet all dressed in the terrible Barton livery, brilliant purple accented with black.

“I wasn’t sure you’d be here,” Tony said from behind him rather suddenly. “I thought I might have committed an unpardonable offense.”

_You have. You made me fall in love._

“No, of course not,” Bucky said, giving Tony an almost too-formal bow. It wasn’t Tony’s fault that Bucky had gone and done something stupid. “I’ve still-- you’re still down for the second two, unless you wish me to release you.” He couldn’t help the way his lip wanted to wobble at that, the way he was already leaning into Tony’s space. The way his gaze went up eagerly to those dark eyes, the curve of Tony’s mouth, the barely visible line of his throat. His perfect hands, long-fingered and graceful.

“I very much look forward to those dances, Mr. Buchanan,” Tony said with his own, slightly more shallow bow. “If I am still in good enough graces to take them. I pledge to behave myself in a more fitting manner.”

Well, that was disappointing. Bucky much preferred the rakish, improper Tony. Bucky nodded, however. “I look forward-- yes, very much so. If you will excuse me, until then, I must attend my mother and sister.”

He gave Tony a nod, and if he directed a longing look at the man, he probably managed to wait until Tony had turned his attention elsewhere. Spoke briefly with Lord Barton, thanked him for the invitation. Escaped an attempt to make his acquaintance from a woman with a brood of five daughters. There was nothing that could benefit either of them from that acquaintanceship.

“Lord Riker looks quite fine this evening,” Becca commented before he’d even taken up station behind her. She glanced at Ma, who was chatting with another dowager, and lowered her voice. “How do you suppose he gets his breeches that tight without fainting dead away?”

Bucky almost spit his lemonade back into his cup. “Becca! Will you behave yourself?”

Becca pretended to consider it. “No, probably not.”

Of course, now that she’d mentioned it, Bucky found himself looking. Dear lord. He swallowed around a knot in his throat, feeling it press against his cravat and the pin that held it in place. “You are a terrible child, and I’ll never be rid of you. I can’t imagine anyone wanting to marry you.”

“I’ll have ten cats and live in the garret. And I’m _delightful_ ,” Becca said. “But you’d better get me a dance. I refuse to sit here like a wallflower while you have your obligation dances with Mama.”

Under their previous circumstances, Bucky would have nudged Steve into dancing with his sister; they were close in height, even if Steve was a few years older. Becca thought of Steve as a brother, and Steve danced particularly poorly, but it got her away from the wall. He scanned the room. He didn’t know very many people there, but--oh. “Sheriff Coulson,” he greeted the older man, “allow me to introduce you to my sister.”

That taken care of, Bucky claimed his mother for their first two, a country dance and a bouncy scotch reel. Neither Bucky nor Coulson were high enough rank to head the dance, and he waited his turn, watching the couples make their way down the line.

Tony, as one of the higher-ranked peers present, led off with Miss Bishop. She seemed to be having a delightful time, while Tony’s smile was fond. Bucky couldn’t hear what they were talking about together, but at one point, Tony actually laughed and nearly missed his step. He caught Bucky’s eye as he led her past, and gave him a brief nod and -- was that a wink?

He almost missed his opening, so busy watching Tony, feeling stupidly jealous for each time his shoulders brushed with Miss Bishop’s, or the way she swayed her hips as she skipped through the steps.

“James,” Ma hissed. “Stop staring.”

“Can’t help it,” he protested, doing the crossover. “That is a very bright coat.” It was an excuse, of course, and Ma probably saw right through him, but what else was Bucky supposed to say? He had been staring.

The dance went on and on, and it was almost half an hour before he returned his mother to the chairs. Coulson presented another gentleman to their notice, and Miss Bishop practically dragged Tony over to greet them. “I’m given to understand this is your first social engagement, Miss Buchanan, and therefore, you must oblige me with the next two, I shan’t take no for an answer.”

Becca actually blushed and ducked her chin shyly, which might have been the first sign of the coming apocalypse. “I believe these are your dances, Lord Riker,” Bucky said, holding out his hand for Tony to take. His mother was speaking with the Sheriff and there existed nothing else in the world beyond Tony and the dance.

“Yes, I believe so,” Tony agreed. He took Bucky’s hand and led him to the floor. “You dance very well. I'm glad you decided to come tonight,” Tony said as they began to move.

“I almost didn’t,” Bucky admitted. He waited until they were on their march to elaborate. “I… allow me to apologize for my behavior on Christmas. I shouldn’t have--” _What, thrown myself at you? Acted so unbelievably wanton? What, exactly?_ “--placed you in such an awkward position.”

“Not at all,” Tony returned. “Any offense must be laid at my feet. You were charming and delightful, and I was a cad. The apology is mine.” He glanced up at Bucky through long lashes, uncharacteristically shy. “Do say you’ll forgive me.”

“I can hardly forgive you,” Bucky said, watching with wonder as Tony’s mouth dropped open with shock, “because I wasn’t offended.” There was no way to tell Tony he’d relived every moment of their stolen kisses until it felt like the memory was worn thin with constant review. That he’d lain awake, staring at the ceiling, and burned from it. That he would almost be willing to trade everything for another kiss.

It was that _almost_ that was the sticker, really.

If Bucky was willing to throw away any hope of a good match, he would have admitted it all, let Tony make of it what he would, take from it what he wanted.

***

“Well, that’s good,” Tony said, and allowed himself a sigh of relief. “I would have been desolate to lose your friendship. You’ve become quite dear to me, these past weeks.”

“I couldn’t possibly bear the deprivation,” Bucky said, his fingers tightening on Tony’s before allowing them to swing back into the exchange, standing opposite each other, a wide dance space between them as the other couples made their way down the line. When they entered steps again, Bucky added, “The bookseller only had one copy of the Shelley piece. If you’ve not started it, perhaps I might read it to you, and thus enjoy it myself?”

Tony thought of it: lounging on the sofa, perhaps, listening to the smooth rumble of Bucky’s voice. A shiver ran through his innards, and he wanted it. It was such an intimate, domestic scene, Tony knew he ought to say no, that he would merely lend the book out, or give it to Bucky outright, but he _wanted_ it. And if he couldn’t have more of Bucky than this... “I would enjoy that,” he said. “Very much.”

Bucky winked and the awkwardness between them melted away, which was probably a good thing, since when the strains of music came to an end, there was a brief pause, and the three-quarter began. A waltz. Shockingly intimate, for a country ball. Of course Lord Barton would order one, or even several. He was as much a reprobate as Tony, and anything that would shock the older set, he was sure to do in multitudes.

Younger debutantes and even some engaged couples were supposed to have permission from their guardians to dance so scandalously close to a partner. “Do you have--”

“No,” Bucky said, but he took Tony’s hand firmly and set it on his hip. “I’ll beg forgiveness later.”

Tony had promised to behave himself; he ought to at least look to Mrs. Buchanan for her nod, but he couldn’t, he _couldn’t_ risk losing this. To have Bucky in his arms... He took Bucky’s other hand and swept them into the dance.

Bucky had obviously been taught to dance from a following position, but he followed so close that with each step, his powerful thighs brushed against Tony’s, their breath mingled in the space between them. He didn’t look around, or hesitate, trusting Tony implicitly to lead them through the weaving couples, so perfectly in sync that Tony could have imagined Bucky to be reading his mind. He certainly hoped not, as his mind went many inappropriate places.

It was some sort of perverse torture, to be so dazzled by the man. Especially when he knew the taste of Bucky’s mouth, the feel of his lips. To have Bucky so close, and yet not able to draw him down, to circle endlessly, to feel the strength of his stride, the heat of his skin. Tony wasn’t much into music or nostalgia, but he imagined the rest of his life, hearing this song and being instantly returned to this one, perfect moment.

Tony cursed his obligations. If Bucky didn’t need so desperately to find a good match, if Tony hadn’t already promised himself to another, if, and if, and if.

It was an eternity and also entirely too soon that the music wound down and Tony was forced to breathe again. He squeezed Bucky’s hand as he led the way back to Mrs. Buchanan. “I thank you for the dances,” he said formally. “I hope to see you again very soon.”

“It was my pleasure,” Bucky responded. He didn’t have time for more than that, before someone else was claiming the next two dances.

Mrs. Buchanan gave Tony a gimlet stare, flat-mouthed and full of disapproval. “Lord Riker,” she said. She didn’t -- even, perhaps, could not -- say anything against him, tottering on the edge of the gentry as they were, but her distrust was plain. “Good evening to you.”

“Mrs. Buchanan,” Tony returned affably. He was more than familiar with disapproving mothers. “I hope you are enjoying the ball.”

“As well as can be expected,” she said. “I hope you know what you’re about, sir.” Her eyes flicked, and then she said, “Sheriff Coulson tells me that there have been some leads on those valuables that have gone missing while in your care. Perhaps you would do well to speak with him.”

Tony didn’t have to speak Latin to translate that. _Go, sir, and mind your duty and cease meddling with mine._

“Have there?” he said mildly. “I should speak with him immediately, then. I hope you’ll excuse me.” He bowed, perhaps a bit more floridly than absolutely necessary, and went in search of the sheriff.

The rest of the evening passed in a much duller fashion; Coulson had, in fact, discovered that the sale of certain stolen goods was expected soon, and he was planning a raid to get to the bottom of the matter before the purchasing smugglers could get them too far away. Tony kept an eye on the dance floor, as Bucky was passed from partner to partner like a party favor. And yet, half the time whenever he was looking, Bucky’s gaze found him, and he had a smile only for Tony, quite different from the one he bestowed on his partners.

A little secret, just for them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> now with art from the [wonderful Monobuu](http://monobuu.tumblr.com/)


	10. The High Cost of Dignity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which sledding and snowball fights are the order of business and Kate Bishop proceeds to demonstrate her worth as Lord Barton’s successor. Also, they are terrible chaperones.

Bucky was a creature of notions; decidedly a man, but with the trappings of boyhood still clinging to his coattails. He’d been trained to be a society spouse, full of easy charm and accomplished, if one considered accomplishments to be those badges of honor given to the people without power in society. He played viola, sang like an angel, knew land management and economics, could throw darts, shoot a pistol, and play an evening’s cards.

He could read for hours without getting hoarse and maintain different voices for the book’s characters, practically bringing the story to life. He couldn’t hold his liquor to save his life, which Tony discovered one evening when Bucky had tipped a few too many wine glasses up and got giggly and even flirtier than normal.

Despite the many, many skills that would make him a desirable spouse, he was still somewhat of a hooligan.

Which Tony never recognized more than now. “You want me to do what?”

“Come sledding with me,” Bucky invited. He was back in those ill-fitting clothes from Tony’s hunting lodge, given their relative state of shabbiness, for what would probably be a cold, wet afternoon’s entertainment, a knit cap tugged over his ears and a matching scarf wrapped around his neck.

“Bucky, it’s _cold_ out there.” Tony tried to scowl, but it was hard to maintain in the face of Bucky’s bright-faced enthusiasm.

“Snow sledding wouldn’t work very well if it were summer,” Bucky said. “Come on, don’t you want to? It’ll be fun. Just a few slides. I found this enormous hill, straight path and then out to the meadow. _It’s perfect_.”

“You’re quite ridiculous, do you know that?” Tony demanded. He was, however, setting aside his writing desk and getting up for his coat and scarf.

“What’s the point in being of age if you don’t get to do what you want, some of the time, at least?” Bucky wondered. “People put entirely too much store in dignity. It’s hardly worth anything, and costs too much. Lord Barton and Miss Kate are going to meet us at the wood, near the path. They’re adequate chaperones, Ma says.”

Well, that was a lie and a half, but perhaps not worth pointing out.  

And it also made the outing somewhat more attractive. Tony tucked in the ends of his scarf and buttoned his coat against the cold. “Very well,” he said, feigning ill temper that he was certain Bucky could see straight through, “let us be about this nonsense of yours.”

It _was_ cold outside. The snow had started falling the day before and gone about its business with enthusiasm. Nearly two feet of the thick, white hardpack lined the roads. The village green was host to an army of snowmen, and children cowering in snowforts threw freezing missiles at each other with abandon.

A few enterprising tradesmen had set up nearby, selling hot cider out of cauldrons over blazing fires as well as paper cones of roasted chestnuts. All in all, very festive and exactly why Tony had vacated to Riker. There was nothing somber and serious here.

Tony was soaked to the knee by the time they crested the big hill. The snow was pure and virginal, spread out like a blanket. The hill’s leeward side was… steeper than he remembered.

Barton was already there, dragging a few mismatched wooden sleds with metal runners behind him. Kate Bishop was sitting on one, shaking her scarf at him and yelling for him to _mush, mush_.

Tony waved at them, and saved his breath to speak until they were closer. “I see you’ve been roped into this, as well,” he observed to Barton.

“Katie-Kate’s a terrible influence on me,” Barton confessed. “Up before noon, and without even a trace of hangover, to go out sporting. I feel I’m doing a disservice to my rank.”

“I’m your ward,” Kate said. “You’re legally obligated to entertain me.” She lined the sleds up at the top of the hill and then took her time selecting one. “I dare say I’ll be first to the bottom, not being so ridiculously heavy as you gentlemen.”

Barton looked down at himself with concern. “Did she call me fat? Do I look fat to you, Riker?”

“I’m not fool enough to contradict the woman,” Tony said, laughing. “But if it makes you feel better, it seems she called all of us fat. More racing and less wine for us all, it seems.”

“I’m just tall,” Bucky said, which was true, a good four inches taller than Tony, and Barton didn’t quite reach Bucky’s eyebrows. “So, you two take it easy on Christmas biscuits, and Miss Kate will give me a head start.” He turned pleading eyes and a puppy expression on Kate, who laughed.

“Never! I aim to win!”

“Cheaters never win,” Barton declared, and then promptly disproved that by flinging himself onto the sled on his stomach and zipping off.

“Barton, you cad!” Kate yelled, and she was down next, shoving off awkwardly.

Bucky shook his head, smiling wide enough to split his face. “You need a push off, Tony?”

“I think I can manage to push off a sled on my own,” Tony said. “I’m not quite decrepit.”

It was harder than it looked, though. If Tony had ever been sledding in his life, he couldn’t remember it -- his father would have found it too childish and undignified for a member of the peerage, regardless of their age. He shoved and pushed and kicked out with his feet, determinedly _not_ looking up to see Bucky laughing at him. Finally, he got it to inch forward, and then a little further, and then it was sliding under its own power.

Going quite quickly, in fact, and if it hadn’t been so close to the ground, it would almost have been as exhilarating as riding.

Bucky whooped from behind him, and it seemed only a moment before his sled was on track with Tony’s. “Ha!” Bucky did something -- Tony didn’t quite see what -- but suddenly there was a huge wave of loose snow spraying out from Bucky’s sled, a rooster tail that was rather pretty. Right up until it took Tony directly in the face.

Tony yelled in outrage and leaned into the sled, trying to give chase, but Bucky was already going too fast to catch up. By the time Tony reached the bottom of the hill and slid to a stop, he doubtless looked more like one of the snow creatures in the village square than a man.

Bucky offered him a hand up, smirking. “We’re all a bunch of cheaters, apparently,” he admitted.

He was absently brushing snow off Tony’s coat when there was a soft paff sound and he staggered forward a step, snow clinging to his hair. “Ka--” Another three snowballs hit Bucky right in the face, one after the other, cutting off his squawk and knocking him down. He scraped snow out of his face. “Barton!”

Tony scooped up the snow and mashed it into a ball, heaving it after Barton. He made another and threw it at Kate. He couldn’t hope to match Barton’s accuracy, but his own aim wasn’t altogether terrible.

Instantly, they were on teams, Tony and Bucky versus Barton and his ward. Bucky chased Kate around, determined, threatening to wash her face with snow. She dodged, and finally escaped, hooting gleefully, while Tony and Barton exchanged volleys from behind trees. Bucky trudged over to Tony, Kate lingering out of reach. “She’s quick,” he said, shaking out his jacket. He knelt near Tony’s feet and started rolling snowballs for him to chuck at Barton. “Can’t catch her.”

“We may be outclassed,” Tony admitted cheerfully. “I can’t beat Barton’s aim.” He eyed Bucky thoughtfully. “But you can. Switch places with me.”

Bucky nodded and stood up, too fast, almost bumping Tony with his forehead. He tipped his head and his mouth was mere inches from Tony’s. There was a long, expectant pause, and then it was over, Bucky ducking around the tree to see where Barton was. “Where th’ hell did she go?” He waited, then pegged a snowball. Barton’s colorful, muffled swearing was a satisfying sound.

Tony knelt, heart pounding from more than the excitement of the fight -- when had a mere kiss become so desirable? -- and tried to focus on making snowballs and handing them up to Bucky as he was ready for them.

Bucky managed to peg Barton a few more times before Tony saw a flash of color where there shouldn’t have been anything but snow and trees and hill.

Tony started to sound the alarm, but it was too late. Kate let loose with some sort of war cry and an enormous boulder of snow -- that must have been merely a mid-sized ball at the top of the hill, before she’d pushed it down -- was bearing down on them. Tony hauled Bucky up by his arm and ran, pulling Bucky after him.

“Oh, _crap_ ,” Bucky shrieked, leaping over a bush and yanking Tony to one side to keep from hitting a tree. He yelped, then grabbed Tony around the waist and jumped, pulling them both into the air. They hit a soft hill of snow and then rolled, back toward the bank. He was pressed tight over Tony, making a shield of his body, and the snow boulder hit the rock next to them, exploding into an avalanche, burying them in a frozen wave.

For a long moment, it was hard to breathe, covered in snow, with Bucky laying on him. It wasn’t precisely dark; light filtered in through the snow. Bucky’s breath was warm on his cheek, but sizzled into white mist as soon as he moved back. “You all right?”

Tony wriggled a little, testing his limbs. “I seem to be in one piece. You?”

Bucky squirmed, then pushed up, shifting the snow from its protective little cup around them, before collapsing again. “I think they’re gonna need t’ dig us out. I ain’t got leverage from down here.” He dropped to one elbow and made a soft sound as he pressed down harder on Tony, a heavy, warm weight. He shifted again, then stopped, eyes getting wide as it sunk in exactly how he was situated and what, exactly, he was laying on. “ _Tony_.”

“Bucky, I...” Tony wasn’t sure which of them moved first, but their mouths crashed together like magnets held too closely. Bucky’s breath was warm and shuddering, and Tony licked into his mouth without any of the restraint he’d mustered at Christmas. _God, I need this, need you_...

“Yes, _yes_ ,” Bucky murmured, giving permission, affirming, his tone practically begging. He shifted his weight again until he had a thigh between Tony’s legs, instinctively rocking down against Tony’s hips, trying to ease the need, and just driving them both wild. “I want…” He slid frozen fingers against Tony’s neck, cradling the back of his head and pulling him closer. He didn’t have much in the way of skill or experience, but his wanton eagerness was doing well as a substitute.

“Bucky,” Tony breathed. He cupped Bucky’s face between his hands and devoured that sweet mouth, almost groaning aloud at the way Bucky gave over to him, let Tony map out every inch. “Oh, god, you’re so...”

“Whatever you want, oh, _Tony_ ,” Bucky said, and he moaned into Tony’s mouth, taking flickering little tastes of Tony’s lip, his tongue, stroked the roof of Tony’s mouth. Not hesitant or shy, just impatient, greedy, voracious. Tony could feel him, the hard length of him, pressed against Tony’s thigh, rocked up into that, and Bucky shifted again. More accident than intent, but they were perfectly aligned, and Bucky’s eyes widened with sudden shock. “Oh, lord, that’s… so _wicked_.”  

Tony wanted to show Bucky just how wicked he could be. Roll them over and rub off on each other, reach down and curl a hand around them both, slide down Bucky’s body and take that hardness into his mouth... “God, sweetheart, I wish...” Snow spilled down the back of Tony’s neck and he didn’t _care_ , just wanted to keep chasing the taste of Bucky’s mouth in his, wanted to feel Bucky’s body pressed against his forever.

Muffled, distant shouting reached his ears, and their cozy snow cave began to shift. Barton and Kate, there to dig them out. “Damn,” Tony whispered. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” Bucky blinked, impossible hurt registering in his expression. “No, why-- don’t be sorry.” He tightened his grip on Tony’s shoulders. “Don’t you be _sorry_ for this, I… _I want this_.”

There wasn’t time to say anything, no time to react, because there were hands coming in through the snow, and Kate was spluttering an apology in between laughing like a loon. “Should have seen your face!”

Barton yanked Bucky up and away, cold air and snow rushing in to fill the spot where Bucky had been. “Anything broken or bleeding?”

Tony was bleeding, but not in any way a doctor could help. “Just bruised dignity, I think,” he said, reaching up for Barton’s hand to pull him out of the snow. You’re raising a menace, there.”

“I’m immensely proud,” Barton said. “She’s worthy of the name.” He slung an arm around his ward, beaming. Right up until Kate dumped a handful of snow right down Barton’s collar. He yelped, yanking his shirt out of his trousers to shake it loose before it all melted in there.

“Definitely worthy of the name,” Bucky agreed. He was laughing and shoving at Kate playfully. When he turned and smiled at Tony, it was like the sun coming up. A pleased, shy flush spread over his cheeks and he ducked his chin, but kept right on smiling.

They dragged their sleds back up the hill, a little more restrained. Slogging up the hill in the snow was hard work; Tony wasn’t quite sure the work was worth the enjoyment of sliding back down the hill, but Bucky and Kate both begged for another couple of runs before the darkening skies would force them back inside.

And every time Tony looked, Bucky was looking right back at him, still pleased. Still a little embarrassed, but bright and cheerful and looking like Tony hung the moon, just for him. It was hard to resist.

They were all completely soaked to the skin by the time they stopped, their faces red and chapped from the icy wind, but laughing and chattering. Or at least Kate and Bucky were chattering; Barton and Tony mostly just endured their teasing.

The walk back to the inn seemed longer than the walk out had been. Tony chalked it up to exhaustion -- trudging through the snow was exercise he rarely took -- until the inn itself loomed, and Tony realized they’d be back to constant surveillance and Mrs. Buchanan’s disapproving glares. Back to sneaking looks and wishful longing.

Back to watching Rebecca Buchanan’s quickly improving health and wondering how soon the doctor would approve the family’s continued travel.

Briefly, Tony considered bribing the man to say they needed to stay until spring. But that was unworthy -- of Bucky as much as of Tony. Tony needed to let him go, for his own sake.

But damned if Tony wanted to.


	11. No Words Said, No Promises Given

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bucky risks everything to take something for himself. And in which Tony realizes everything he has found and everything he has lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For our smut-averse readers -- pretty much everything after Tony opens the door for Bucky is smuts. But you may want to skip to the end and read the last few paragraphs, just for the angst.

“‘Oh, it is not thus—not thus,’ interrupted the being. ‘Yet such must be the impression conveyed to you by what appears to be the purport of my actions. Yet I seek not a fellow feeling in my misery. No sympathy may I ever find. When I first sought it, it was the love of virtue, the feelings of happiness and affection with which my whole being overflowed, that I wished to be participated. But now that virtue has become to me a shadow, and that happiness and affection are turned into bitter and loathing despair, in what should I seek for sympathy? I am content to suffer alone while my sufferings shall endure; when I die, I am well satisfied that abhorrence and opprobrium should load my memory. Once my fancy was soothed with dreams of virtue, of fame, and of enjoyment.’”

Bucky was reading, and the family was gathered around the fire. Tony sat on the sofa opposite him, a shadow against the fire, and even if Bucky couldn’t see him, he could feel the weight of Tony’s gaze. A few more pages and the book would be complete.

No more reason for Tony to come and sit with them in the evenings.

Not that there was much time left at all, honestly.

The doctor had finally cleared Becca for travel, so long as they didn’t go far in one day. The money that the duke had sent would cover rooms in another tavern up the road. Two days of easy road, one more night at an inn, and then they’d be moving into the duke’s summer home.

Ma had already written the duke’s chamberlain that they would be on their way the day after tomorrow.

They’d only lingered this long because the Sheriff was staging a raid against some purveyors of stolen goods. There was some likelihood that some of their belongings might be recovered.

Bucky took a quick sip of tea, gone tepid at his elbow, and continued to read. He felt a lot like the beast of Shelley’s fancy, giving up on love and companionship to head into the frozen wastes.

_Always so dramatic_ , Steve would have accused him.

He finished the last page and closed the book. He tucked a piece of paper in the front, ostensibly the bookmark he’d been using the last few evenings, and then rested the book on his knee.

Allowed his gaze to linger on the shadow that was Tony. “Well, that’s it, then,” he said, and extended the book back toward its owner. “Thank you for the loan of it. I can’t say it was a happy story, but it’s certainly given me a lot to think over.” He tapped the bookmark and gave Tony a significant look before he gave the book back.

Tony cocked his head slightly, and accepted the book with a faint smile. “Yes, indeed. Thank you for the reading of it. I won’t be able to re-read it, now, without hearing your voice.” He glanced at the clock on the mantle, then stood and stretched. “But it’s late; I shouldn’t trouble you any longer tonight. Mrs. Buchanan, as always, my thanks for your gracious hospitality.”

Bucky saw him out to the door. “Good night, Lord Riker.”

He leaned against the door for a moment, took a deep breath. “I think I’ll go to bed,” he told his mother. “If the sheriff recovers our things tomorrow, that’ll be extra packing to do.”

He retreated to his bedroom and started counting the minutes. His heart ached as he thought about leaving Riker, leaving Tony. He’d never been so happy in his life. Never felt so wanted, so appreciated. Tony had surrendered, sometimes grudgingly, but always with interest, to Bucky’s every whim, no matter how silly it seemed, had thrown himself into a friendship with vigor.

Bucky stripped down to his longshirt and a pair of breeches, lay on the bed. There was no way he could sleep, he was too keyed up.

He pulled out his billfold and opened up Steve’s letters, reading them all slowly, one at a time.

The most recent said to him, _Do what you want. I know you always do. But I beg you, be very certain, and very careful._

Bucky had taken it as encouragement, although he was honest enough with himself to admit that he would have taken anything as encouragement that wasn’t a flat out admonishment. Not, he thought, that he would have listened.

The duke’s chamberlain had sent two more letters since the last, one to extend his sympathy for their trials, but the latest one was almost demanding, wondering pointedly where they were, and inquiring if Mr. Barnes had, perhaps, decided against the duke, in which case, he’d appreciate knowing, so that other arrangements could be made.

Ma had taken that in the spirit in which it was undoubtedly meant: get here, or lose all hope of snaring the duke.

He’d written the note to Tony early that day, agonizing over every word. He’d burned nearly half a dozen misbegotten attempts, not wanting anyone to read the rejected copies out of his bin.

Finally, “ _I have struggled against this too long, and I am tired. I can hardly think of anything that is not you, and I barely close my eyes to sleep but I see you in my dreams. There is nothing, no person, that I wish to be close to, aside from you. I ask for nothing that you do not willingly, freely, wish to give. If you feel the same, no words need be said, nor promises given. I will be at your door at eleven. Leave the door unlocked and we can then discover all we’ve not said to each other. Be all that we have not been to each other. Wishing to be yours, Bucky._ ”

He’d tucked it in the flap of the book and ached every moment that he read, hoping. Wishing. Wanting.

Not to mention, just a little bit terrified, in case Tony gifted the book to his sister, or something else horrible.

He checked the clock. Listened to his mother puttering around, doing her last minute fussing, like she always did.

But finally, she went to bed, and Bucky was up, creeping on sock-feet to the door. He left their door unlocked; the latch was old and putting a key in it in the wee hours would be nearly as loud as churchbells. He had his excuse ready -- that he was having trouble sleeping and had snuck to the kitchen for a pot of warm milk.

He slipped into the hallway and shut the door carefully behind him. The inn was nearly silent, save snores from one room and the fire crackling down in the main parlor.

He went to Tony’s door and waited a moment outside it, gathering his courage.

Reached out and turned the knob.

***

Tony nearly missed the note. If the bookmark hadn’t fluttered to the floor as he was putting the book away, he might never have seen it.

As it was, he almost wished he hadn’t. Surely, a good man would burn that note and leave his door locked. Bucky would be disappointed, but unspoiled and pure for his future spouse.

Tony was not that good a man. After weeks of wanting, of hearing Bucky’s voice in his dreams, of that wonderful, intolerable flirting. After those sweet stolen kisses. Tony couldn’t deny either of them this one night.

He dismissed his valet to the servants’ quarters at the back of the inn, then unlocked the door and sat by the fire to wait. He turned the book and its note over and over in his hands, restless but unable to concentrate on anything else. When the clock stuck eleven, he all but held his breath, listening for the quiet creak of footsteps in the hall, the click of his doorlatch lifting.

When the door pushed open, there was a long pause, as if Bucky had expected to find the door locked, or if, even now, he was reconsidering the matter. And then he was in Tony’s room, shutting the door behind him, and leaning against the wood to pant for breath. “Tony? I-- I’m here.”

He was half dressed, long white shirt around his thighs, breeches loosened around his calves. No cravat, the shirt was gaping open at the throat. Somehow, just that little patch of skin at his neck, the hint of dark curls beyond, the way the opened sleeves fluttered around his wrists, made everything seem very, very real.

Tony stood, leaving the book behind on the chair, and went to him, cupped his face in shaking hands, and drew him into a kiss, urgent and hungry. The soft, desperate sound Bucky made only filled Tony with fire. Tony’s hands pushed eagerly into Bucky’s thick hair, cradling his head and stroking his face, even as Tony plundered that delectable mouth.

Bucky kissed him back, lured Tony in, captured his lips. He nuzzled, kitten soft, at Tony’s chin, and pushed his head back to explore along his jaw. The scrape of Bucky’s stubble rasped against Tony’s cheek. “I’m here, darling,” Bucky said. Like he was announcing it, or perhaps just recognizing the truth of it. He was _here_. In Tony’s room. With the intent to go to Tony’s bed, and if they were caught now, everything would be in the suds. “Tell me what to do.”

Tony pulled Bucky away from the door, lest even their quiet voices travel, and looked at him in wonder. In the dim light of the fire, his beauty was ethereal. “Touch me,” Tony said. “Let me please you.” Tony’s hand slid down Bucky’s shoulder, over his chest, stopping just over his heart. “May I?”

“You pleased me from the very moment we met,” Bucky told him. He extended a hand and touched Tony’s face, running down the planes of his cheeks, along the line of his jaw. Brushed his thumb over Tony’s lip. “Do whatever you like. I’ve… been dreaming of this. I promise you, I will be pleased by all of it. Because you… you’re the one doing it.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Tony sighed. He pulled Bucky into another kiss, honeyed and slow, and worked his hands up the back of Bucky’s shirt, sliding over the planes of Bucky’s back. The first touch of skin on skin was a flare of heat like the striking of a match. Bucky gasped and Tony swallowed the sound. He tipped his head to nuzzle along Bucky’s jaw, stubbled and strong and as sweet as the rest of him. He nibbled at Bucky’s earlobe as he rucked the shirt up, gently lifting it over Bucky’s head and dropping it to the floor. “Look at you,” he sighed. “God, you’re so gorgeous.”

“You, uh, want me to--” Bucky stammered blushing golden rose in the fire light. He plucked at the closures to Tony's waistcoat, reaching around to get at the buttons. It took him a bit to work the buttons backward but then Tony's shirt joined Bucky's on the floor. Bucky stared down at the twist of discarded clothing. “That's… oddly symbolic.”

Tony chuckled. “Perhaps.” He drew his hands down Bucky’s chest, thumbing Bucky’s nipples as he went and watching for Bucky’s reaction. Not everyone was sensitive there, but for those who were, it was a treasure trove of sensation.

Bucky inhaled, a soft, needy whine. “I… that…” He shivered under Tony's hands, then clutched his wrist like he wasn't sure if he wanted to push Tony off or keep him right where he was. “Tony… I'm having a hard time standing up,” he confessed.

“Oh, you’re right, I’m being a terrible host,” Tony said, smiling. He backed away a step, and then another, pulling Bucky with him, until he reached the big bed. He turned down the blankets and comforters and patted the soft sheets. “Come sit here, sweetheart.”

Bucky sat on the edge of Tony's bed, hands going down to stroke the sheets. He fingered the material. “Silk? Really? I thought that was just in lurid novels.”

Tony laughed. “Really? Did you come here just to mock my sheets?”

Bucky ducked his chin again, then lifted it almost defiantly. “No. I came here to spend the night with you. To… for you to… to lay with you.”

That little stammer was adorable. Tony cupped Bucky’s cheek and kissed him again, a quick peck. “If that’s what you want,” he said, and slid into the middle of the bed, spreading his arms. “Come here and kiss me, then.”

The whole bed rocked as Bucky shifted to lay at Tony’s side. He touched Tony with tentative fingers, down Tony’s chest. Soft brushes over Tony’s belly, making the muscles there twitch. He leaned down and very gently pressed his mouth to Tony’s, just tasting his lip. He continued his exploration of Tony’s body, tracing the line around of the waistband of Tony’s breeches, then, sucking a breath as if greatly daring, opened one button on the flap. Then another. He waited between each, unsure and hesitant, but getting more confident as he went, until the entire flap was open and there was a deep vee opening in Tony’s breeches.

“Do I… just?” Bucky’s hand hovered right over Tony’s smallclothes. He flicked his eyes up to look at Tony’s face.

“If you like,” Tony said. He took Bucky’s hand, lacing their fingers together, and drew it to his mouth for a kiss, openmouthed and wet. Then he slid Bucky’s hand down his body until their joined hands slid over his cock. He watched Bucky’s face, curious and nervous and excited and not the slightest bit fearful.

Bucky touched him, jerking his hand back in surprise, then put it back down. Stroked down Tony’s length, as if fascinated by the heat of Tony's skin, his gaze flipping back and forth between Tony’s face whenever he made a sound, and then back down. He got bolder, biting at his lip, and then slid his hand all the way through the slit in the front of Tony’s drawers, curling his fingers around Tony's shaft. “So warm,” he marvelled. “I never…” He was blushing again. “Off, I want… I want to see.”

“Whatever you wish,” Tony promised. He curled up to push off his breeches and smallclothes, kicking them off the bed, then laid back, letting Bucky look his fill. “You could take yours off, too, if you wanted,” he teased gently. “Or I could do it for you, if you like.”

Tony was pretty sure Bucky stopped breathing for a moment, wonder and awe competing on his expression. “Yes, yes, that, let’s…” He squirmed around until he was on his back. “You, please… tell me, tell me what it’s like, how you’re going to-- I don’t know anything about this.” He was eager, couldn’t hold still. Every motion of Tony’s hand was met with sighs and wriggles, directionless but wanting.

“Shh, calm down a little,” Tony said, stroking down Bucky’s skin like petting a cat. “I’m going to touch you like this, just let you feel it, for a little bit. And then I’ll undress you. I’m sure you’re beautiful, every bit of you, so I’m going to look at you. I want to see, so I can remember. And then I’ll touch you some more, make you feel good, hopefully. I want you to feel good. Maybe--” He leaned over close, not quite kissing, more like teasing Bucky with the possibility of a kiss, drawing away every time Bucky tried to close the distance between them. “Maybe I’ll show you some wicked things I can do with my mouth.”

“Can’t,” Bucky said, decisively. “Can’t calm down, Tony, oh, _God_ , Tony, I feel like I’m gonna burn up. Everything, please.” He imitated Tony’s actions, drawing Tony’s hand up to kiss his fingers, then when Tony made a soft noise at that, sucked the finger into his mouth, tonguing at the callused fingertip. Bucky made an urgent moan as Tony tugged, light, and then sucked it back in. His tongue was soft, wet, agile, swirling over Tony’s finger. He bit down, light, a bare sting around the knuckle.

Tony hissed as his own desire surged. “God, look at you. So sweet, so willing, so...” Tony leaned down to kiss his way down Bucky’s chest, pausing to lick delicately at Bucky’s nipple, to suck at it until Bucky was arching into the touch. It was perfection, everything Tony had imagined, and more.

Bucky writhed under him, one hand cupping the back of Tony’s neck as if to hold him there forever. He moaned around Tony’s finger, his lips closing to suckle, then opened again to breathe. Traced the line of Tony’s spine, then his hand settled on the curve of Tony’s ass. He shivered and shuddered, incredibly responsive. Each new area that Tony explored elicited a gasp or soft sigh. By the time Tony worked his way down to opening Bucky’s breeches, Bucky was arched back on the bed. He took Tony’s hand out of his mouth and bit down on his own palm instead, teeth sinking into the skin to leave half-circled marks to stifle his cries.

Tony wished he could hear those cries, uninhibited and full, but he would have to be content with those muffled whines and gasps. Tony unbuttoned Bucky’s breeches slowly, steadily, watching Bucky’s face and feeling like each expression was a gift. “Lift your hips for me, sweetheart,” he urged, easing them down along with Bucky’s smallclothes, carefully freeing Bucky’s erection. “There you are. Oh, you’re lovely.” Tony ran his hand over Bucky’s legs and belly, teasing and getting closer with each pass.

Bucky squeaked, dropped his hand as if to cover his dignity, chest breaking into blossoms of dusky gold. He hovered there a moment, then forcibly put his hand to his side, not quite able to meet Tony’s gaze. “Ain’t no one looked at it, before,” he muttered. He wriggled, then rolled onto his hip as if to hide himself, which had the effect of brushing his ass against Tony. Tony could almost feel the blush then, hot and furious, and then Bucky wriggled backward, experimentally, feeling the press of Tony against the back of his thigh. “ _Oh, God_.”

Tony spooned up against Bucky’s back willingly, rocking himself against Bucky’s thigh and curling his arm over Bucky’s side to stroke at Bucky’s stomach and chest. “It’s all right,” he whispered soothingly. “You’re all right.” He peppered Bucky’s shoulder and neck with kisses. “I’ve got you.”

Bucky tipped his head to claim some of those kisses, and then he was rolling in Tony’s arms, chest heaving as he panted for air. He kissed Tony, and kissed him, open-mouthed with deep, needy groans, rubbing himself against Tony, every inch of bare skin touching as much of Tony as he could reach. His hips rocked against Tony’s, instinctively seeking that friction. “I… God, Tony, I want… I want…” He rutted against Tony’s thigh, then brushed them together, velvet and steel, heat and hardness. “Oh, this, god, this…”

“You like this, sweetheart?” Tony coaxed. He reached between them and wrapped his hand around the both of them together, as much as he could. He stroked them slowly, thrusting his tongue into Bucky’s mouth in a matching rhythm, encouraging that frantic heat.

“Oh, oh,” Bucky moaned, tucked his head against Tony’s throat, licking wildly, then… “if you… if you… want something else, Tony, I… you’d best be about it. I… _god…_ ” He uttered that last, deep and guttural.

“This is good, this is enough, sweetheart,” Tony promised. “Just seeing you like this, it’s perfect.” He stroked a little faster, rolled his hips a little harder. “Come on, just let it go, I’ve got you.”

“It’s too much, so _much_ , oh, oh, Tony, I… I can’t… I… oh, oh, Tony.” Bucky cried out, muffling the sound against Tony’s neck, and then another stifled sob. Heat bloomed over Tony’s fingers, spilling onto his belly and Bucky thrust through the mess, hot and needy, spreading it around, all the while making sharp, lustful sounds against Tony’s skin.

Those sounds were beyond anything Tony had imagined. They roared like thunder in his ears and raced like lightning through his blood. “Oh god, Bucky,” he gasped. “Darling--” Another few strokes and he bit his lip to quiet his own cry as he came. “Oh god. Oh, _god_.” He panted against Bucky’s throat and listened to their breathing as it slowed.

Eventually, Bucky uncoiled, rolled over to rest at Tony’s side. He hadn’t changed, of course; there wasn’t some great turning point between being a virgin and actually laying with another person, but he probably _felt_ like something momentous had happened. He certainly seemed a little less body shy, although that might have just been exhaustion. “I… there’s nothing proper about this, but will you… allow me to thank you for it? I… I needed this, this one perfect, beautiful memory, and I’m… I wanted so much… to share this with you.”

Tony brushed his fingers down the side of Bucky’s face. “If you’ll let me thank you, as well.” He kissed Bucky’s shoulder. “You should know that I’m not just... that I wish I could give you more. That I could make promises and offers. But I’m.” He swallowed hard. “I’m promised, already. I don’t even know him. Never even seen his portrait.”

Bucky was already nodding. “Yeah. All the arrangements are made. It’s done, it’s… I don’t have a choice. He… he’s already bought and paid for me. Like I’m a horse. I don’t know, he’s _old_. I just… I wanted something for me, something that was mine. Is it so wrong?” He blinked several times, eyelashes clumping with sudden, unshed tears.

“It’s not wrong,” Tony swore. “It’s not.” He leaned over to kiss Bucky gently. “The way the world is... it can’t be wrong to take what little comfort you can, when you find it.” He laced his fingers with Bucky’s and squeezed. “Maybe... Maybe we’ll see each other. In society. Maybe we can arrange... something.”

“Society marriages, they’re like that,” Bucky said. “Just a partnership, and who I… share myself with, that’s… maybe it’s wrong, but… yeah. Yeah, maybe we can. I… I won’t see you again, after this night. Not until… after. But… I’ll never forget this.”

“Nor I,” Tony promised. “If I could choose...” He swallowed against the overwhelming understanding of what he had gained and what he was losing. “I’d choose you.”

“Me, too.” Bucky touched Tony’s face, leaned in and kissed him, soft and light. “I should… I should go. We can’t be caught.” He slid out of Tony’s bed, used the pitcher of water and ewer to clean up, then dressed. “I… goodbye, Tony.”

Tony had to speak through a lump in his throat. “Goodbye, Bucky.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The bit Bucky is reading at the start of the chapter is from the end of Mary Shelley's _Frankenstein_. Which we both definitely recommend reading, if you haven't!


	12. The Duke's Companion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Rhodey comforts the Duke, Tiberius discomforts everyone, and Bucky comforts himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's some adult content at the end of this chapter. For the smut averse, stop reading after Bucky suggests a walk in the gardens.

Tony didn’t bother to get out of bed the next morning. The Buchanans would be busy packing whatever Sheriff Coulson had managed to recover, along with the things they’d acquired over their stay, and leaving. Bucky wouldn’t see him.

He did go to the window to watch their carriage head off down the road. He watched until he could no longer see any dust raising from its wheels, and then went back to bed.

He got up for dinner, but the food was ash in his mouth, even Angie’s best apple pie. Tony smiled at her wanly and ordered a bottle of scotch instead. He took it to his room with him.

He didn’t get up at all the next day.

The day after that, Rhodey arrived.

Rhodey banged on the door a few times and when Tony refused to answer, he picked the lock. He’d have probably kicked it in, except then Angie would have yelled at him, and nobody wanted that.

“Man, you are pathetic, Tones,” Rhodey said, dragging a chair in from the sitting room and flopping down next to the bed.

“‘M not pathetic, ‘m drunk,” Tony returned, waving vaguely at the mostly-empty bottle.

“When you’re sober, you can educate me about the difference,” Rhodey said. He rolled his eyes. “I’d ask how much of this you drank, but you’re going to tell me _all of it_ , and things are just gonna go downhill from there.”

“All of it,” Tony confirmed mournfully. “Rhodey, I never expected to meet someone who I wanted to _be_ with. And we’re both promised to someone else.”

“That’s a blow,” Rhodey said, nodding. “The kid?”

“Yeah.” Tony picked up the near-empty bottle and upended it for another swig. “I almost... I almost asked if he’d come home with me as my companion. But he deserves better.”

Rhodey looked dubious. “I dunno, Tones,” he said. “There’s not a lot better than being a duke’s companion, if what you’re looking for is a comfortable life. You wouldn’t leave him with just a few trinkets and a lot of bills. What did he say?”

Tony sniffed. “That he’s engaged. Some crusty old peer.”

“Keep wondering who _society_ benefits, because it certainly ain’t the people in the society,” Rhodey said. “Come on, gimme that.” He snatched the bottle away, all three or four swallows left, and dumped it in Tony’s chamber pot. “You need to get out of this room and eat something. Not necessarily in that order.”

Tony grumbled. “Not hungry.”

“I know,” Rhodey said. “Look, why don’t you come back to my place? Pepper’d love to see you, and I don’t have to worry about you drinking yourself to death. Just a week or so, hmm? No booze, but you can sulk as much as you want.”

“Or I could sulk here, _with_ booze,” Tony pointed out.

“Don’t make me roll you up in that blanket and carry your ass outta here, Tony,” Rhodey said. “That lacks dignity. But I will absolutely do it.”

Tony glared up at his friend, who glared right back. Tony huffed. “Fine,” he grumbled. He threw back the blankets and sat up. “You have to help me get dressed.”

“Did you fire your valet again, or did he just quit?” Despite that, Rhodey was pulling out a shirt and trousers. “For what it’s worth, Tony, I am sorry. I thought you might be falling for Mr. Buchanan. He seemed like a nice kid. Tough. Smart. You have good taste, if abominable timing.”

Tony let Rhodey help him into his clothes, then dropped his head on Rhodey’s shoulder. “It’s not fair,” he whined.

“Life seldom is,” Rhodey said. “An’ it’s hard and it’s mean. But it’s the only life we get. Tony… hey, look at me for a second? I am really proud of you. This hurts, man, I know it does, but you did good. You did the right thing.”

Tony choked on something. It might have been a bitter laugh, or it might have been the injustice of the situation.

***

_Dear Steve,_

_We arrived at Inwood this morning, just before luncheon. For a “small summer home,” I don’t think I’ve ever seen something so overblown and ostentatious before. There are ten bedrooms and four parlors. What does anyone need with so many parlors? I wish you could see it. In fact, you shall. You’ll be invited to the wedding, I’ll send a carriage for you. That’s the sort of thing I should be able to do now, right?_

_There’s the red salon and the white salon and a garden parlor, and the Master’s private library. That means the duke._

_Who, by the way, is still not actually_ _ here_ _._

_He’s attending some business at one of his other estates. Whatever that means._

_The ceilings are very high, here, with quite a lot of art. Most of it is fairly terrible. Your paintings are so much better. But you might like some of the landscapes, and a whole series of hunting paintings in the upper bellisarius corridor. No, I don’t know what that word means. I couldn’t find the dictionary in his lordship’s library either._

_Ma and Becca have been installed in guest rooms in the east wing._

_My bedroom is on the other side of the building, adjoining the duke’s. The door, at least, locks from both sides._

_Steve, since writing the above, something has happened of a most alarming and offensive nature._

_The duke’s companion has moved in!_

_Not, I’m told, a member of the peerage, but he claims to have been sharing a room with Duke Stark for many years, and was told he didn’t have to leave, just because I was-- Steve, I am furious!_

_What am I supposed to do? We nearly came to blows over who was to be installed in the ducal spouse’s bedroom._

_His name is Tiberius Stone and he might possibly be the most beautiful man in existence._

_I can’t decide if I am more offended or relieved._

_I am not, as Stone says,_ _ distressed_ _._

_Please write back at once. I am in desperate need of your advice._

_Yours to the end of the line,  
Bucky_

***

Tiberius was already in the breakfast parlor by the time Bucky got up to have something to eat. Despite getting the staff to agree that he had rights to the ducal spouse’s bedchambers, and those chambers being magnificently turned out, Bucky hadn’t slept well.

Tiberius, apparently, hadn’t slept at all, keeping to town hours, drinking and playing cards all night and sleeping during the day. He had his boots up on the table and was smoking a cheroot.

Bucky took a plate of eggs and sausages from the sideboard, along with a slice of toast and a liberal dollop of jam. He wondered if it would look cowardly to take his breakfast into the parlor and eat there, or if there was some obscure rule of the gentry that forbade it. Like possibly getting jam on the expensive, velvet backed chairs.

He took the seat furthest away from Tiberius and set about eating as quickly as possible.

Tiberius watched Bucky with undisguised curiosity. He really was a beautiful man, with spun-gold hair and cornflower blue eyes and perfect, unblemished skin. He didn’t even have dark circles under his eyes from his night of carousing. “You get used to it,” he said eventually.

Bucky considered his toast, then the man across the table. “Used to what?” He begrudged every word, but at the same time, he’d had manners drilled into his head since he was barely able to talk at all.

“The duke being gone,” Tiberius expanded. “He travels a lot. Very busy.”

It was all he could do not to snarl. He wasn’t even sure why he cared. It wasn't like he was anxious to see the duke. “Does he? Do you prefer him to be here, or away?” He didn’t like the idea of speaking to his betrothed’s lover, but maybe Tiberius could give him some answers. Some information. Some idea of what he was getting, aside from a fancy house. Small, summer home. Bucky found himself wondering what the ducal seat was like.

“Oh, I’ve learned to find the benefit to both,” Tiberius said. “I can’t go out so much when he’s here, but he’s not giving me gifts when he’s gone.” He shrugged and stubbed out his cheroot. “You’ll see.”

“I’m sure,” Bucky said. He poked his eggs a few times, watching the yolk pool on his plate. “How long--” Bucky coughed, cleared his throat. “How long has the duke been giving you presents?”

Tiberius smiled thinly. “Several years, now. To be honest, I admit to some surprise at seeing you here. I rather thought he might marry me.” His smile faded entirely. “Beware the duke’s promises. He keeps them only when it’s convenient for him.”

Bucky wasn’t sure why that hurt so much. It wasn’t like he had any particular affection for the duke, nor expected any in return. But somehow, it did. It gnawed at him with tiny, sharp teeth. _I gave up love, for this?_

Not that it was the truth. He couldn’t have had Tony even if he’d been willing to throw over the duke, to risk an insult that great, to…

It was just painful, he supposed, to realize his sacrifice had benefited no one, and that it might still net him no gain whatsoever. “If you’re concerned about keeping his affections,” Bucky snapped, “don’t. I’ve no use for them.” He wasn’t hungry anymore, and he shoved his chair away from the table. Surely, there had to be somewhere in this vast, ridiculous house that he could find some peace.

***

_Dear Bucky,_

_Send that carriage now and I’ll square off with the duke himself. How could he do that to you?_

_It’s not that I’m ignorant of the way things are done. But for the first person for you to meet to be his companion... it’s not well done of him, Buck. I’m tempted to hope that his grace decides you don’t suit, after all, and then you can go back to Riker. He at least seemed to have some sort of affection for you._

_Still, if you’re staying, stand your ground. I don’t care how pretty the man is or how long he’s been mooching off the duke’s purse, the duke chose you to wed, which means your needs come first._

_Whatever business the duke is about, he needs to get his act together and come home._

_You might want to re-think adding me to the wedding guest list. I’m afraid the only gift I’ll bring is a piece of my mind._

_To the end of the line,  
Steve_

***

Duke Stark’s personal library seemed a space that no one ever occupied. Most of the books were entirely untouched, just there to look impressive, or as a show of wealth. Bucky wasn’t certain if it was just that the duke wasn’t in residence often, or what.

After the first few visits, he put aside the urge to destroy all the books in a fit of pique. And then he found the place irresistible. It was the one room where Tiberius never sought him out -- and the man seemed to have an uncanny ability to just show up wherever Bucky was. He couldn’t decide why that was; did Tiberius just delight in making Bucky uncomfortable, or was he actually seeking some sort of alliance? And was that alliance for, or against, the duke?

Nor would his mother or sister follow him within. The duke’s library had only one door, and that crossed directly through the duke’s bedchambers. Bucky had the adjoining bedroom, and since the door between hadn’t been locked on either side, Bucky took it as an unofficial invitation. The duke’s rooms were an extension of his own. Let the duke contradict that, if he would.

If he would ever show up, even.

Bucky had situated himself with a book of French poetry -- it was slow going, he’d neglected his language lessons, but he could puzzle it out eventually, and it was erotic poetry at that, so decidedly worth his efforts -- but it wasn’t keeping him occupied.

Jarvis had already brought Bucky’s mail; the old butler was the only one who seemed to have no regard for the duke’s privacy, or perhaps he was checking to make sure Bucky wasn’t planning to burn the library down.

So he’d be left alone until at least tea, when he’d be expected to join his mother and sister. And Tiberius, because Tiberius was nothing if not insistent that everyone in the household acknowledge him. The duke’s official companion. He couldn’t even keep up some sort of polite pretense? It was damned insulting, and a horrific reminder of what was to come. If, in his absence, Bucky was abused in this manner, Bucky wasn’t sure he wanted the duke to come home at all.

Well, perhaps long enough for the wedding, and then the old goat could trip and break his neck. Bucky would wear black for a year, but he’d send Tiberius packing.

Next spring, though, he’d go visit the capitol.

Bucky hadn’t been introduced to the duke’s heir. Bucky wondered what had happened to the heir his father had saved, that had earned him the Duke’s friendship in the first place, but perhaps the child had been found unfit and packed off to live a luxurious but quiet life somewhere. Which meant Duke Stark was waiting on a spouse (probably) to obtain a new one. Which meant the title would (probably) fall to Bucky, at least for a time.

His Grace, Duke James Barnes of Manhattan.

Introduced in public for the first time, an assembly ball, or perhaps a more intimate affair at a fellow peer’s manor. He would be dressed in the half-grey, but that was a color that suited him, drew attention to his eyes.

He would look around the room, and there would be Lord Riker, decadent and as brightly dressed as a bird of paradise.

Smiling. Just for Bucky.

“So good to see you again, Riker,” Bucky would say, giving his hand over to his dear friend, and no one would mind. No one would expect a duke to be chaperoned.

They could talk. Tony would tell him how fine he looked.

Bucky would suggest a walk, perhaps out in the gardens, didn’t the gardens look so romantic at night? Offer Tony his arm, which he could, now being the higher ranked, and feeling the press of Tony’s fingers against his elbow.

A maze-garden, perhaps. Bucky had heard people cultivated those. He could lead Tony into the hedge maze and then chase him down in some dark corner.

Tony’s dark eyes would spark and shine. “You planned this,” he’d accuse admiringly, and Bucky wouldn’t deny it. Tony would press his mouth to Bucky’s again, that sweet kiss that turned so achingly hot. And his hands would wander, caressing the rich fabric of Bucky’s suit, those clever fingers slipping through the smallest spaces to tease at Bucky’s skin.

Bucky wouldn’t be so green and desperate this time; he would never have loved his husband, but the duke would have taught him the measure of pleasing a man before he departed. Bucky could make the fever burn in Tony’s skin, would bring them both pleasures. Bucky would take his time, teasingly undress Tony, enough to bare him to Bucky’s gaze, and Bucky’s alone.

He would touch, this time. Would stroke Tony, slow and firm, each pass bringing Tony to a higher need, until he was squirming desperately in Bucky’s arms. Would have to muffle the sounds Tony was making with his own mouth. Taste those lips again and again. He could never sate himself on them, he would never be able to get enough.

Tony would arch and moan to Bucky’s touch, beg for more. Would beg to touch Bucky in turn, and Bucky would permit it, let Tony open his clothes and stroke him, caress his skin, perhaps even drop soft kisses over his belly and hips, warm breath spilling over him.

“Oh, darling,” Bucky would say, keeping his voice low, his words were only for Tony. “Does it ache? Let me--”

Bucky knew _he_ ached, right there, in the duke’s library, he ached for Tony. Missed him, missed his hands and his sly looks and the tenor notes of his voice. Missed the way he flirted shamelessly. Bucky rubbed at himself through his trousers, trying to soothe that ache, but it flared up even sharper at his touch. It wasn’t the same as what Tony had done, the way he’d rubbed them together, lewd and lush, and… perfect.

 _It could be, though,_ Bucky thought, suddenly. It could be close enough. He wasn’t supposed to, and he’d given up (well, mostly, he thought, blushing hotly) tugging himself off as a game for boys. But he’d already lain with another man, what harm would it do now? It wasn’t as if the duke would ever know.

And what of it, even if he did?

The duke had his companion, he had his Tiberius.

Bucky could have this. His fantasy of Tony in his arms, in his bed. Under his mouth. Just under him.

Bucky unbuttoned his trousers and reached inside. The relief from his fingers on his own tool was incredible, drawing a deep sigh. He curled his hand around the shaft, already thick and sensitive and so, so hard.

“Tony… oh, god, Tony.” He cast his imagination back, and somehow the maze melted away until they were _here_ , in this library, in the duke’s own library, and Tony was naked and shameless, sitting on Bucky’s lap, arms clasped around Bucky’s head.

Tony would press close, until they were cheek to cheek, chest to chest. Tony’s breath would be hot in Bucky’s ear as he whispered wicked things, and he would roll his hips to slide their parts together.

There was more to it, Bucky knew. He knew, somehow, there was. His father would have, at some point, explained a spouse’s wedding duties to him, but of course, George hadn’t lived long enough. From boyhood whispers and a smudgy little illustration that Steve had found, once, Bucky knew it involved him bending over and presenting his backside to his husband. He assumed his husband would know what to do, would show him.

Almost absently, he wondered if it would work the other way, if he could look down at Tony’s exposed ass, and… and what? His whole body went up in a sheet of flame, just thinking about it, just wondering about it. Imagining it. He rubbed himself harder, squeezing near the head, a twist of his wrist. Would he rub himself between Tony’s cheeks, in that deep split? Would Tony _like_ that?

Would Bucky like that?

He tried to imagine it, what it would feel like, Tony’s tool pressing there, pressing… oh, oh, oh--

Bucky bit his lip hard enough to taste blood as everything turned white. A high pitched whining noise in his ears and he couldn’t see for the way his heart pounded in his chest, and…

He kept his hand over the head of his cock, to contain his spill, and fetched his handkerchief out of his pocket with the other.

Everything went limp and boneless and utterly utterly peaceful, for some measure of peace. He imagined Tony, panting and shivering, cradled against Bucky’s chest. “I love you, I love you darling,” Bucky would say, and as soon as he thought it, he let his eyes stay closed, because he knew, knew it was true. It was true and it was useless. “Love you, my darling.”

“I love you too, sweetheart,” Tony would say. “I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some people have noted that in Regency England, Bucky would not actually inherit the duchy. This is true, however, in a world where men (and women) can marry as they chose (m/m or w/w relationships are legal and accepted) we went with a different variant on the laws of inheritance.
> 
> In cases where the Duke has no issue or a child that's not suitable (for whatever reason, including something like Howard's clause of Tony getting married) the Duke appoints an heir (an adopted child, a sibling, a loyal estate manager, a spouse, etc) that must then be approved by the local bishop and the noble's superior (in the case of a duke, the king/queen has to approve it). This is why Bucky wonders what happened to the kid his dad pulled from the river (not know that's Tony) and where the Heir is.
> 
> Which basically means:  
> Howard put the clause in the will that Tony was his defacto heir, provided he got married in the allotted span. If he does not, the duchy goes to his next appointed heir, Obadiah Stane, his best friend.  
> If Tony gets married in time, he does not currently have an heir (by blood) and so will have to appoint his own heir. Which means he could, actually, appoint Bucky; the local bishop and the queen would have to sign off on it, which is where politics can come in to play.  
> Obie is just barely a peer (he was knighted by the previous King) and accepted *mostly* because he has a lot of financial influence with the local bishop.  
> Steve (or Ty) for instance, are Not peers, and while Tony could (technically) appoint him as the heir, the Queen and the bishop would probably NOT approve that.
> 
> (I'm picturing Jan Van Dyne as the current Queen)


	13. For His Grace to Say

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Angie takes Tony to task, Bucky takes a bath, Tiberius attempts to take advantage, and the Duke finally takes up his responsibilities.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mild content warning: Tiberius makes a pass at Bucky that borders on predatory, but nothing comes of it.

_Your Grace,_

_It is rather urgent that you come to Inwood as soon as may be arranged._

_Jarvis_

Tony stared at the note for a long moment. Jarvis rarely bothered to write to him with any but the most urgent matters. Which Tony could only assume meant that Mr. Barnes had made his appearance.

Tony grimaced. He would go home and fulfil his promise to the young man, of course he would. But he wasn’t ready to do so just yet. Thanks to Rhodey and Pepper, he was no longer lying in bed bemoaning the vagaries of fate, but thoughts of Bucky still filled him with anguish. As his father’s will demanded, Tony would face his husband-to-be in plenty of time to marry before his twenty-ninth birthday. But that was months away, and Riker was still plagued by bandits.

Tony had returned to the inn with a promise to Rhodey that he would not simply crawl back into the bottle, but instead would do his duty as Marquis Riker, to ensure the bandits took their rough games elsewhere.

“I simply don’t understand where they’ve come from,” Tony complained as Angie set down his luncheon. “Five years ago, Riker was as safe as any place. But there hasn’t been any significant new influx of people, no major changes in structure.”

“No minor ones, either,” Angie said.

“I’m sorry?”

Angie raised her eyebrows at Tony expectantly. “There’ve been no repairs. No maintenance to the roads. The summer fairs have been smaller each year -- last year’s was downright pathetic. An’ that’s your lordship’s right, of course, but the creek that runs the mill ran low ‘cause of blockage, an’ it took _months_ to get permission to go up onto the reserve to clear it. The deer in the woods practically overran the town, but the hunters aren’t allowed in the woods to thin them--”

“Since when?” Tony asked, perplexed. He didn’t hunt often, but he distinctly remembered meeting groups of hunters and woodsmen who made their living off the estate’s wildlife.

“Permission was revoked a few years back,” Angie told him. “‘Bout half a year after your father passed, God rest ‘im. At th’ time, we thought you were planning a hunting party and just wanted the woods cleared for that. But it never came back.”

It was never an order that Tony had issued, he was certain of it. “Ang, there were people making their living off that forest.”

“I know,” she said, and he could see that she was making an effort not to sound judgmental, but it was there in her eyes. “We don’t like to complain,” she said seriously, “an’ we make do just fine most of the time. But if the taxes go up again--”

“Again?” Tony could feel a headache coming on. He hadn’t raised taxes since he’d taken over as duke. But since he’d taken over, he’d left most of the estate management to Obie, who’d handled much of the business of the duchy for Howard, as well. “Just how much have they gone up?”

Angie pressed her lips together until her normally full mouth was a thin line. “One shilling on the pound, that’s a full twelve percent. On top of the tithe to the church. It was four pence to the pound in my mother’s time, and only six when Peggy and I took over the inn. So, double. In the last four years.” She raised an eyebrow at him. “You didn’t know, Your Grace?”

“I didn’t know,” Tony confirmed. “But if the money’s not going to repair things or build new things, where the hell is it going?”

“That’s for Your Grace to say,” Angie said, and the sarcasm dripping off that was so thick, it was a wonder it wasn’t pooling at her feet. “I heard a rumor there was a new wing on the ducal manor, but even all that labor came from out-county workers.”

“That can’t be right,” Tony said. “There’s got to be an explanation.” Had there been some kind of major emergency in one of the other counties? Surely Tony would have heard about _that_ , about something big enough to affect the whole duchy.

“The taxes are a burden,” she said, “but taxes always are. We’re making out all right most of the time. Some, not so much, though. Everyone near the river was dispossessed, eight families, when the crops didn’t pan out so well. The land tax, you understand, doesn’t care where the profit comes in, so long as it does. Some new folk moved in. They’re… not quality.”

Tony frowned. “Not everyone can be, but... what, you think they’re our bandits?”

“I don’t want to point fingers at new people, just because they’re new,” Angie said. “That’s hardly generous of me. But no one knows where the dispossessed went, either. I’ve never personally been hungry enough, but if someone --” There went that judgemental look again. “-- raised taxes on me until I couldn’t pay my bills, and my children were hungry and homeless, I might not have a terrible amount of respect for swells in fancy carriages on the duke’s land.”

Tony shoved a hand through his hair. “Right. So the root of all this might be at the seat. I can see I’ll have some pointed questions for Sir Stane when I next see him.”

“Well, if there can be some relief, I’m sure we’ll all be grateful,” Angie said. “I… hope I haven’t been too forward, your lordship.” And _that_ was a relief. He’d just about been Your Graced to death.

“No more forward than I’ve been a blind fool,” Tony said ruefully. “I appreciate you saying something.” He grinned. “And that it was you instead of your wife. She’d just have taken a blunt object to my skull, I expect.”

“My English Rose doesn’t take any nonsense,” Angie agreed. “Astonishing, that she takes me.” She gave Tony a bawdy wink, bumped him with her hip, and disappeared back into the kitchens for the evening’s crowd.

Damn and blast. It looked like Tony was going to have to go home soon, after all.

***

The ducal spouse’s boudoir was not someplace Bucky should have ever expected to entertain a guest that was not implicitly and explicitly invited.

Which was why, when Tiberius Stone walked in while Bucky was in the damn bath, he about had a heart attack and died on the spot. He snatched up one of the towels and draped it over his waist hastily. “Do you, truly, have no place else to be?” he demanded. Having dismissed the valet for an hour while Bucky soaked, there was no one here to defend his honor.

Which could be very bad.

The duke was allowed his little liberties, but Bucky certainly _was not_. Despite what he’d done with Tony, if someone caught him with Tiberius, Bucky would be in more trouble than he could see the bottom of.

Which also meant he couldn’t yell for someone.

Tiberius smiled easily. “Where else should I be?” he asked. “I know we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot. I thought we should start again.”

Bucky scraped a hand through his bath-wet hair. “Speak plainly,” he said, giving up. He was tired of verbally fencing with Tiberius, and it would show him to be petty and jealous if he tried to move it to an actual duel. Although he was getting closer to that as a solution to the problem. If he ran Tiberius through, he wouldn’t have to deal with the man again.

Of course, a few discreet inquiries had given him the information that Tiberius was a ready hand with a blade, and while technically death would also be an end to Bucky’s problems, he wasn’t quite that desperate. Yet.

“What is it you want?”

“I want to help you,” Tiberius said, all wide-eyed hurt. “I thought, if my job is the duke’s pleasure, then it’s my duty to ensure you have all the skills you’ll need to please him.”

“I thought your job was to make sure I didn’t need to,” Bucky said. He shifted a little, uncomfortable with being so exposed in front of someone he did consider his enemy. “Carnal pleasure, that’s your area of expertise. Mine is… well, other things. And to remain pure, for my husband’s privilege. It’s certainly not for you to despoil it for him.” He knew he was blushing, but hoped Tiberius wouldn’t notice, or would take it for an effect of the hot water.

“He’ll have to bed you occasionally,” Tiberius pointed out. “After all, he can’t take me everywhere. And I’m not going to teach you my _best_ tricks, of course. But a few things. Just to help keep his eye from wandering. Well, wandering too far.”

Bucky couldn’t repress a shudder. He didn’t really want to lay under some stranger, some other man for whom Bucky was a duty, and to whom he owed no pleasure or tenderness. “And, assuming I agreed to these lessons in ducal pleasure, what do you want, in exchange?” Maybe Tiberius could teach him some things, like… how to pretend to want someone that he had utterly no interest in. Bucky certainly didn’t want _Tiberius_ to touch him.

But Tiberius was at least young and pretty.

Still, Bucky’s stomach dipped and twitched, his heart beat painfully, and he felt almost swoony, like he was going to pass out from loathing.

“Well, for one thing, you won’t try to insist that he remove me,” Tiberius said. “I don’t know that he’d listen to you if you did, but I don’t know that he _wouldn’t_. So you’ll hold your peace. It would be nice if we could be... convivial. But I’ll accept simple civility.” His smile widened. “A peaceful household for his Grace.”

“I daresay the duke will do exactly as he pleases, without reference to my comfort or yours, or anyone else’s,” Bucky said. “We all exist entirely at his mercy.” He eyed Tiberius. “You know I don’t like you, His Grace’s preferences aside. That seems quite a hurdle, if you’re to teach me bedplay.”

“Not in the slightest.” Tiberius came closer, perching gracefully on the lip of the tub. “The first lesson, of course, is how to hide your own preferences away.” He trailed his fingertips in the water. “Or almost the first. Do you even know how to touch yourself?”

It was disconcerting, Tiberius being so close. No one else, aside from Tony, had ever been quite so near. And Tony had only seen Bucky in dim firelight. Here, Bucky was utterly exposed and it was the middle of the damn day; there was nothing that he could hide himself with, beyond the narrow strip of the washcloth. Defenseless.

But there was also something _familiar_ in the way Tiberius was looking at him, in the delicacy of his motions, in the rise and fall of his voice. Bucky's body was reacting to that nearness, even if the rest of him was almost utterly repulsed. “I ain’t as green as all that,” Bucky said, roughly.

“No? And here I thought you were pure and virginal.” He leaned forward until Bucky could feel his breath. “Have you ever even been kissed, sweetmeat?”

Tiberius’s breath was nothing like Tony’s. Tony smelled of tea and mint. Tiberius smelled like he’d been using cologne as mouthwash and Bucky shuddered, trying not to imagine what that would taste like. “I am a virgin,” Bucky said, even if it was half bluster. He was pretty sure, at least, that nothing he and Tony had done was… that. Whatever _that_ was, whatever purity he was supposed to maintain, Tony hadn’t broken it. As for the other question, that wasn’t any of Tiberius’s concern.

“I’ve no doubt,” Tiberius said. “Kept under lock and key, like the precious thing you are.” He lifted his hand from the water and curled it around Bucky’s jaw, thumb brushing lightly at Bucky’s cheek. “Mm, no, this won’t be a hardship at all.”

Tiberius’s hand was warm, the fingers soft and silk-smooth. The man had obviously never done a day’s work in his life. Bucky could… he could… close his eyes and think of something else. Someone else. He could imagine Tony instead, and-- He… could… “No,” Bucky said, reaching up for Tiberius’s wrist. “No, I can’t, I _can’t_ do this.”

“Of course you can,” Tiberius purred. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell his Grace a thing.”

“That’s because there won’t be a thing to tell him,” Bucky snarled. “Take your hands off me. I don’t want this.” He shoved Tiberius away, and damn his modesty anyway. Let Tiberius look, it was all he would ever have. Bucky climbed out of the bath and got his robe, tying it on over wet skin.

Tiberius stumbled into the wall and then straightened, scowling. “You want to think about this,” he said. “I have the duke’s ear. I can make things very uncomfortable for you if you don’t listen to me.”

Bucky went to the window and looked out; there was frost on the glass, the same way there was frost on his heart. He wanted Tony, wanted him so badly he could taste it. “I very much doubt you can make me any more unhappy than I already am,” Bucky said. “Tell him, if you want. Or don’t. Stay, if you have to. Or go. But keep in mind, the duke made a promise to me, and I’m going to be the ducal spouse. I may even be duke, one day. When that day comes, I won’t be defenseless anymore. And I will remember what happens now.”

Tiberius stared at him for a long moment, eyes narrow. Then he swept an elegant bow, with flourishes Bucky couldn’t hope to copy. “Then if you’ll excuse me, _Your Grace_.” He straightened and stalked from the room.

Bucky was pretty sure it was a bluff; Tiberius could make him damned uncomfortable. Rumor alone would make society functions unpleasant, and as the ducal spouse, he’d have to go. Have to listen to the rumors, have to accept the digs disguised as pity, the overtures of other nobles, thinking Bucky needed a pair of arms to retreat to.

The duke was an honorable man; he’d made an honorable (if distasteful and impersonal) offer to a friend’s son. He’d sent a ring, even if Bucky no longer had it. He wouldn’t want the scandal of reneging on that offer. If the duke was willing to bend that much for his lover, he could be persuaded to give over a good sized sum for Bucky not to make a fuss in public about it. They didn’t need much, a house and an income of six hundred a year would more than cover their needs.

Let the duke keep Tiberius if he wanted to. It would mean less work on Bucky’s part, if they wed.

Bucky’s heart was already broken.

What more could they do to him?

***

_Your Grace,_

_I would never presume to interfere in your business, nor chide you for your inappropriate behavior._

_That being said, I should bring it to your attention that Master Stone has taken up residence at Inwood at your word. The situation is growing vastly uncomfortable, and I beg you to come home at once to resolve it._

_Jarvis_

Tony winced as he read the note. He’d issued that blanket invitation to Ty more than a year ago, and never bothered to revoke it, though Ty had opted to remain in the townhouse that Tony had provided. It hadn’t occurred to Tony that Ty would try to horn his way into the house _after_ Mr. Barnes had arrived.

But of course he had. Ty had never been anything like subtle, and he’d always been a grasping, greedy sort. He’d even tried to hint that Tony should marry him, which Tony wouldn’t have done even if it weren’t for Howard’s insistence that Tony bind himself to one of the peerage.

Well. Maybe early in their acquaintance, Tony might have been swayed. Ty was persuasive and charming when he wanted something, and Tony had been rather enamored, for a time.

But Howard’s ultimatum still stood, and Tony wasn’t going to be able to provide for a spouse if he were disinherited, so that was that.

But apparently Tiberius hadn’t gotten that message. What on earth was he _doing_? Running roughshod over the poor Mr. Barnes, most likely, given the tone of Jarvis’ note. Just as well he had been nearly decided to return already.

_Jarvis,_

_My business in Riker is, if not concluded, then no longer actually in Riker. I will be returning to Inwood within three days’ time._

_\--Stark_


	14. Everything He Could Possibly Hope For

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a great many things are discovered and everyone is forced to make plans to protect themselves from heartbreak.

Bucky selected his clothing very carefully. After two weeks on his own at the duke’s estate, he’d employed a tailor on the duke’s credit, filling out his wardrobe considerably. Everything he chose had particular meaning, from the low crown of his hat, and the restrained collar of his jacket, to indicate his lower rank.

He selected pale colors, a mossy-green coat and silver shirt, reminiscent of his coming-out suit. The soft shades made him look even younger. Everything was designed to make him as appealing as possible to an older man with set ideas, who’d bought and paid for a pure, virginal spouse.

And then, defiantly, he placed the cravat pin Tony gave him right in the middle of his throat. The sapphires were brilliant, noticeable, symbolizing love. Nothing that Bucky should ever have worn at his neck, unless his spouse gave it to him. Tony might not have loved him, might never, but Bucky knew what he felt, and he would scream it. Symbolically, of course. On his way to be another man’s fatted calf.

He would be expected to sit with his mother and sister in the white parlor, awaiting the duke’s arrival.

Bucky probably wouldn’t even see him immediately. The carriage would come, and the duke would retire to his bedroom to refresh himself, eat, perhaps rest and redress, before even bothering to greet his guests. It was proper, Bucky told himself. It would be fine.

Except when Bucky arrived at the parlor, Tiberius Stone was holding court there, having badgered Becca into reading to him, sitting on a low ottoman near his chair, and looking for all the world like she existed for Tiberius’s pleasure.

Ma was in her regular chair, the one that she’d claimed once they’d gotten settled. She was looking out the window at the drive, ignoring Tiberius, which had been her solution to the problem of the duke’s companion. She gave him the cut direct and stuck to it, managing to keep even from bumping him when he tried to get in her way, all without looking as if she’d noticed him at all. It was brilliant, and Bucky only wished he could manage the thing with so much grace.

The hell Bucky was going to sit in that parlor, awaiting the duke, and have to listen to Tiberius’s speculations.

He backed out of the parlor, and knew it for a retreat, taking refuge in the music room. He would play. He would play and lose himself in the music.

Let the duke chide him for it.

***

Riker was perhaps Tony’s favorite village in the whole of the duchy, but Inwood was Tony’s favorite estate. Never mind that it had been intended as a summer home only; Tony inhabited it whenever business allowed.

Of course, approaching it now felt less like coming home and more like seeing the walls of a prison emerge. Once he’d formally been introduced to his intended, that was the thing all but sealed and done, however he felt about it.

Not that there’d been much he could have done about it up to this point, really. He’d given his word.

The carriage pulled up and around to the front of the house. Jarvis was waiting, along with the housekeeper and several of the staff, to welcome him home and deal with his luggage. He didn’t see anyone in the waiting line who wasn’t in his own livery, but he still didn’t feel the urge to spring excitedly from the carriage compartment himself, as he had done many times in the past, to his mother’s unending despair.

He would go to his fate under his own power. But he wouldn’t go eagerly.

All too soon, however, the footman was opening the carriage door and setting out the stool, and if Tony lingered in the carriage any longer, he’d look like he was sulking. Which he was, but he couldn’t _show_ it. He suppressed a sigh and descended.

“Welcome home, your Grace,” Jarvis said. “We’re delighted to see you again. Your guests are in the white parlor. _All_ of them.” Jarvis rubbed thoughtfully at the side of his nose. He followed along behind as Tony moved into the foyer, handing his hat and gloves off to a manservant who appeared out of nowhere to take them. Jarvis removed Tony’s overcoat, then fussed over the wrinkles in his shirt. God, he was worse than Tony’s mother.

“Leave it, Jarvis,” Tony said. “I’ll go up and change before I face the guests. You don’t think they’ll burn the place down in the next half-hour, do you?”

“Mr. Barnes has been quite restrained, given the provocation. I’d cleaned the dueling pistols, just to be prepared.”

Wonderful. Tony could feel the headache starting already. “Maybe closer to an hour, then,” he said. He brushed past Jarvis and headed for the stairs and his bedroom.

But he stopped at the base of the stairs, hearing a faint strain of music. He paused, frowning, and made out the lilting rhythm of a waltz, echoing down the hall from the music room.

None of the servants would have dared play the instruments in the music room, not without permission, and Tony wasn’t sure they’d even dare to ask. So it had to be one of the guests.

Tony took a few steps closer, frowning, and was suddenly flooded with memory, stepping lightly around Lord Barton’s ballroom with Bucky in his arms. He’d been so happy. So lighthearted. And he would never be that happy again, he was sure of it. That song... It was the very same song.

No, he couldn’t. He simply couldn’t bear the pain of hearing that song, of remembering the way they’d been, the bright light in Bucky’s eyes. He couldn’t stand it. Not now, maybe not ever. He turned toward the music room. He’d be very gentle, he told himself. Whoever it was certainly didn’t know what the song meant to him. He’d just explain that it was attached to painful memory and ask them to stop. That would suffice.

Yes, very good. Feeling the weight of Bucky in his arms, Tony marched to the door and opened it. “I must ask you to stop--” That was as far as he got before he realized what he was seeing.

Bucky was in the center of the room, dressed in the pale shades of a debutante, his viola tucked under his chin. His eyes were closed and he swayed gently to the music, playing by rote, the music stand empty. He moved with passion, the bow practically dancing over strings, fingers moving quick and subtle over the board.

The music came to an abrupt halt, a tangle of discordant notes, and then a started gasp as Bucky looked up to see who’d interrupted him. He froze, staring, eyes wide, apparently unable to move.

Tony’s heart was racing. Bucky? Here? _How?_ “Bucky?” he asked, and it came out as a dry whisper. “What--”

“Tony, oh my god, _Tony_ , what are you doing here?” Bucky dropped his bow, practically threw the viola at the sofa where it made a slight jangle as it struck. He was halfway across the room, already reaching to pull Tony into an embrace.

“I _live_ here,” Tony said, still half in shock, even as his hand lifted to reach for Bucky’s. “What are _you_ doing here?”

Bucky stopped short, confused. “You live in _Riker_. This is-- oh, god, you have to leave, Stark’s going to be here _any minute_.”

Tony blinked. Blinked again. Surely, he’d told Bucky his full name at some point? But Bucky was glancing between him and the door, increasingly worried, and--

“ _I’m_ Stark.” What was he on about? Oh. _Oh_. “You’re Mr. Barnes,” Tony whispered. “Oh my god. Bucky. All this time, and I had no idea. Why didn’t you tell me your name?”

Bucky staggered back a step, fell on the sofa. His viola crashed to the floor. “ _You’re_ Stark? You? You’re… oh my god. Oh, my God.” He was breathing too fast, hand pressed to his chest like he was in pain. “I had to, I had to, I… the brigands. They were going to _ransom_ me back to Stark. What else could I do to protect my family? They couldn’t know where we’d gone. I… lied to everyone. I was scared.”

“If I’d known,” Tony whispered. If he’d known -- what? Would he even have bothered to make Bucky’s acquaintance after that first dreadful meeting? Or would he have avoided him? He didn’t know. He didn’t _know_ , but it didn’t matter, because Bucky was _here_ , Bucky was his betrothed, he had everything, _everything_ he could possibly have hoped for. “I’d have protected you,” he swore, and that was true, he would have done that much. “Bucky, I...”

“You’re supposed to be _old_ ,” Bucky said. “Friend of my _father’s_. He saved the heir’s life, he always told the story, how he saved the child and the duke offered him a fortune for it. You’re… not supposed to be… you.”

“My father, he was in a carriage accident a few years ago. I'm the duke, now,” Tony said, putting the pieces together almost too quickly. “Your father saved _me_ , but I was only a child, barely more than a babe in arms. My father’s the one who befriended him.”

“You’re Stark,” Bucky repeated and he was practically rocking back and forth, like he needed comforting. “ _You’re_ Stark. You’re _Stark_. You-- You? You--” He stood up suddenly, surged forward until he was inches from Tony. “You unbelievable _bastard_!” He raised his hand like he intended to slap Tony across the face, but stopped at the last second. “Don’t… Don’t you touch me, don’t you say a damn word to me.”

Bucky spun around on his heel and left the room through the south door, headed for the kitchens and servant’s area.

Tony looked around the room as if it might contain some hidden answer. “What... what just happened?”

***

Bucky fled and he had no idea where he was going. Where the hell could he go, he was in Stark’s damn house, and everything here and everyone in it belonged to the duke.

Including one very confused, extremely hurt and distressed Bucky Barnes.

He certainly couldn’t go back to the library, which had been his refuge these last few weeks. He absolutely wasn’t going to go back to his room -- the ducal spouse’s chamber. Oh, god, oh, _god_. What the hell was he going to do?

He came to an abrupt stop.

The next logical step for Stark, having had his betrothed storm off, was either to greet his guests -- dear god, what was Bucky’s mother going to say? Oh, Christ, he needed to head that off…

Or he’d go to his chambers.

But everyone would have heard him come into the house.

And with no Bucky immediately appearing… would Tiberius go up to give his lover comfort?

Bucky practically burst into flames at the thought.

He was furious with Tony, hideously embarrassed. Offended -- _Tony_ had sent for him like he was some sort of prize livestock? _Tony_ had sent that tacky, horrific ring? But there was no way in hell Bucky was going to let _Tiberius Stone_ be the one in that plush bed.

Not now.

Christ, what a tangle.

It took him a moment to orient himself, and then he was back down the stairs to the second floor and headed straight for the ducal spouse’s chambers.

***

Tony rubbed at his face; his headache hadn’t gotten any better for trying to figure out why Bucky had been ready to embrace him one moment and then cursing him the next. But at least he knew who was waiting for him in the white parlor.

He recalled Mrs. Buchanan’s -- Mrs. _Barnes_ ’ -- sour expression and decided he should change first. Bucky might not have slapped him in rage, but he wasn’t putting anything past Mrs. Barnes.

His steps felt heavy as he trod through the house. He didn’t recall the halls being this long, before, or the stairs so ponderous.

His bedchambers were the same as ever, although the curtains were pulled back and fresh flowers were on the table. The door to the library was open, and a fire set there. A book was out on the desk, resting with the spine up, pages slumped on the desktop. A few pieces of paper next to the book, and a half dozen balls in the wicker bin. _Someone_ had been using the library.

Bucky? Or maybe Ty, though Ty had never shown much interest in the library before. But Tony wouldn’t put it past him to use the room as some kind of power play against Bucky. Curiously, Tony turned over the book and looked at the papers scattered beside it.

_Dear Steve,_

_Miss you so much._ ~~_My heart is broken, and I don’t know what to do. I love_ ~~

_Dear Steve,_

_You won’t even believe what Stone has done this time._ ~~_Came to me while I was in the bath if you can even comprehend_ ~~

_This is ridiculous. I never know what to write, but when you are here, with me, I’m never at a loss for words. You must come visit soon, I’m going mad._

_Yours til the end of the line  
Bucky_

Tony stared at the letters. What did they mean? What... Was this Steve Bucky’s lover? And what did it mean, Ty had come to Bucky in the bath?

The adjoining door between the ducal spouse’s room and Tony’s bedroom opened, and Ty slipped through. “Thought I might find you here. Quite the little shouting match with you and your beloved.”

Tony looked up, startled, and then realized that Ty had no idea what Bucky was to Tony. It was just Ty being his usual sarcastic self. “Echoed all the way down to the white parlor, did it?”

“Of course not,” Ty said. He examined his nails. “But you can’t blame me, can you, for looking after my own interests. He’s a dreadful bore, my sweet, and he has no appreciation for what you can do for him. Tell me you’re not going to throw me out on my ear, as he’s been threatening me with all week.”

“I haven’t... decided what I’m going to do,” Tony said. The thought of bedding Ty after having Bucky in his arms left him cold. But... Tony’s gaze slid back to those letters. “I should have guessed you’d show up just to make trouble.”

“Of course I didn’t show up to make trouble, lovie,” Ty said, and he moved closer, rested his fingers on Tony’s hand, sitting backward on the desk to look up at Tony, those blue eyes guileless. “I showed up because you _invited_ me, and I wished to see you again. How was I to know you were buying yourself a pretty little virgin?” He scoffed. “You needn’t bother with him, if you don’t wish to. He’s pretty enough, I’ll grant, but very, very dull. He knows _nothing_ and isn’t interested in learning.”

Well, that was patently untrue; Tony had found Bucky very quick and clever. Though Ty didn’t know Tony knew that, and Ty was absolutely angling to keep his position now. “Why do you say that?” Tony asked, feigning curiosity.

“Well, I’ve had him already, darling. What’s mine is yours, what’s yours is mine, just like you always said. Hardly the work of a few minutes, but barely worth the bother. I could scarce keep from yawning.”

Tony saw red. He wasn’t even sure who he was angry at. Himself, for letting things get so twisted? Ty, for his lies and broken truths? Bucky, for... for what? Rejecting him? Being unfaithful?

Tony had sworn that virginity was nothing of worth in a spouse, but the thought of anyone else putting their hands on Bucky filled him with rage.

He snatched up the book and threw it across the room, scattering the pages on the desk. “Get out,” he snapped. “Just... Leave me alone!”

“You know you won’t be satisfied with anyone else,” Ty said. “And even I could never hold your attention for long. Have your fun. I’ll be waiting for you.” Ty got up, yawned and stretched graceful as a cat, and left the room with same amount of feline deliberation. _I meant to do that,_ and _I’m not going anywhere that I don’t wish to go._ He paused in the adjoining doorway, then gave a delighted little chuckle. “Well, I suppose I should let you have your turn at him, sweetmeat. He’s in a temper, though. Watch yourself, or you’re going to get bitten.” Ty patted Bucky condescendingly on the cheek, and then slipped away.

Bucky turned to watch him go, then, very flatly said, “I loathe that man.”

_I think I do, too,_ Tony thought. But rage still trembled under his skin, and he couldn’t stop himself from snarling, “And yet he claims to have seduced you.”

Bucky whirled back to Tony, the fury in his eyes snuffing out Tony’s own. “He _tried_ ,” Bucky snapped, “but I’m not such a fool as that.”

No. Bucky was too clever to hand Tiberius such a potent weapon. It was Tony who was the fool, for letting Ty manipulate him so easily. “Bucky,” he tried. “I. I thought you knew who I was.”

“That you were Stark, your Grace? Why would I know that? Everyone called you Riker. I… of all the things Ma wished I’d learned, _Debretts_ is at the top of the list. I never can remember which duchies have honor titles. Last I remembered, Stark was in his seventies. Based on the letters I got, nothing contradicted it.” He hovered uncertainly in the door. “I thought you were a marquis, not a title without some honor, but the county is poor. You lived at the hotel. I… why would I have known?”

Tony opened his mouth, and nothing came out. Everyone had always known. Even before he’d inherited the duchy, when he really had been merely the Marquis of Riker, everyone had known he was the duke’s heir. It had never occurred to him that someone might _not_ know. “I... I don’t know,” he admitted. “I just. Assumed.”

“So what do we do now, your Grace? The papers await your signature, to make it all legal,” Bucky said. “I can’t decide if Ma will be delighted or horrified, should you chose to sign them.”

It was on the tip of Tony’s tongue to say he’d refuse to sign, if Bucky didn’t want it -- but he’d already lost Bucky once, and he didn’t think he could stand to do it again. Bucky had been so happy to see him, right up until Bucky had figured out that Tony was the duke. So Bucky still wanted him, somehow, some way. If Tony could just figure out how to get through the rest of it...

But he couldn’t do that if Bucky _left_.

“Of course I’m going to sign them,” Tony said. “There’s no reason not to.”

There was a flare of something in Bucky’s eyes, there and gone before Tony could identify it. Then Bucky bowed, low and graceful, if simple and without any of the flourishes that Ty would have believed necessary. “Whatever your Grace thinks is best. If you have no further requirements for me, I believe I shall go inform my mother of the joy about to befall us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The "cut direct" is a social punishment, refusing to acknowledge the other person at all. A form of shunning, the modern equivalent would be like blocking someone and encouraging all your friends to do the same. In this particular case, Winifred has low social capital to begin with and she and Tiberius would seldom be at the same social functions anyway, so it's more symbolic than anything.


	15. How Everything and Nothing Has Changed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which duty is done, papers are signed, and a door remains locked. And Steve Rogers arrives to be interviewed for the commission of painting the ducal portrait.

“Nothing’s changed,” Bucky told himself firmly, leaning against the adjoining door. It was a lie. Everything had changed, and Bucky was still reeling from it. _Duty first,_ he thought, _and then you can fall to pieces._ He considered the lock on his side of the door. Both sides had to be unlocked for the door to open, and either party could chose to shut the other out. He’d been positive that he would have locked it, if Stark had turned out to be… well, anyone else in the world _but_ Tony.

There was some small, greedy part of him that wanted to throw his hands up, wanted to dance for joy, and wanted to leave the door unlocked as an unspoken invitation. _Come to me, darling._

“Nothing has changed.”

Bucky scowled and turned the lock. It clacked into place with a sound like a slamming door. To--Stark. Stark could have his marital rights, as soon as they were married. As Bucky understood the wedding papers well enough, he was at Stark’s immediate and permanent disposal, as soon as they were wed.

Duty. He had an obligation to his mother.

Right. He took several breaths to fortify himself, and went down to the white parlor.

At least Tiberius wasn’t in the room; well, of course he wasn’t. Stark had ordered him away, and while Tiberius might be a conniving little weasel, he also wasn’t stupid. Openly antagonizing his lover wasn’t going to get him what he wanted.

“James, darling, where have you been? The duke will be here any minute, you must--”

“Mother,” Bucky said. He knew he was holding himself all wrong, that he was retreating into manners and proper behavior as a way to keep a stiff upper lip, to keep himself just… going. He couldn’t help it. If he let go now, he was going to start screaming, and if that happened, he wasn’t sure he could stop. “I’ve recently been informed of a gap in my education, and it affects us. Did you know--” he twisted his fingers together behind his back, like he was reciting lines in the schoolroom, “--that one of the honor titles for His Grace, the Duke of Manhattan… is the Marquis of Riker?”

Ma looked at him. “No, I don’t think I-- _No_.”

Bucky gave her a stiff little smile. “Yes,” he said. “The Duke of Manhattan is Anthony Stark, Lord Riker. We had words, in the music room. He is…” Bucky swallowed hard. “He is going to change and freshen up from his journey, and then sign the wedding papers.”

Ma’s mouth dropped open a little, and Bucky could practically _see_ her trying to decide how to react. Becca, on the other hand, had no such hesitation. She bounced in her seat and clapped her hands. “But that’s _wonderful!_ ” she chirped. “You got to be such good friends, before!”

“Yes,” Bucky said. “I’m… it’s wonderful. I’m quite overcome. Nothing’s changed. I’m certain… I’m certain we will be quite fond of each other. In time.”

Ma’s eyes narrowed. “What’s happened?”

“Nothing’s changed,” Bucky repeated. “Including the arrangements for his Grace’s _other_ guest.” That was as much as he could bear to say. It was revolting to him, to even think of Tony with… Tiberius, but surely, that had happened. Might even _be happening_. Tiberius would know how to cool Tony’s temper, would know what to say, and how to act, to make everything all right between them.

And, well, Tony knew the truth, didn’t he?

That Bucky had never had any intentions of being faithful to his husband either.

_That was different,_ he railed. _You were in love. You were in love_ with Tony.

_He still knows, doesn’t he? Knows he can’t trust me, knows I… gave myself to someone before the wedding. God, what he must think of me._

“Oh,” Ma said icily. “ _That_ one. Well.” She heaved a great sigh. “Such men have their ways, I suppose. Though it’s ill-done of him to wave it under your nose. Maybe I should speak to him.”

“As always, I yield to your superior understanding in the matter,” Bucky said. That almost got a real smile, the thought of his tiny, fierce mother giving the duke a dressing down. She certainly had the right, as the mother-in-law. “Perhaps, though, you would be so good as to wait until after the papers are signed. We are still dependent on his grace’s favor.”

Ma looked like she wanted to protest, as if she were ready to charge into Tony’s bedchambers and start beating him about the shoulders regardless of their respective places... But then she deflated. “You’re right, I suppose.” She peered up at Bucky again. “Are you certain you’re all right, darling? You look pale.”

“I’ll… I’ll be everything charming,” Bucky promised. “The duke will have no cause to complain of me. I’m only surprised. Having difficulty reconciling the duke who sent all those horrible letters and the one I didn’t realize I was getting to know, and wondering which one is the true man. It’s really of no consequence. I never expected to love my husband, so perhaps it’s best to know now, for certain, that I never will.”

Ma caught his hand and held it between hers. “My darling boy. So brave. I wish it didn’t have to be this way. I wish you could have your own choice.”

“It’s better this way,” Bucky said. “If you gave me the choice, I would no doubt muck it all up. At least this way, I can blame someone other than myself.”

She looked like she wanted to argue, but her lips pressed together, and she sighed again and patted Bucky’s hand.

“So do we have to wait for the duke, or not?” Becca wondered. “Because there’s a whole garden that I haven’t finished exploring yet.”

“Go on, then,” Bucky told her. “You can greet your brother-to-be at supper.” Assuming Tony ate with them. Bucky didn’t like any of this. He had no idea how Tony would react and there was a small, angry part of him that resented it. And another part that kept telling him that he was being stupid and dramatic and ridiculous.

Enough conflicting voices in his head was giving him a headache.

“I’m… going to go finish my letter to Steve,” he said, finally. “This is news I’m sure he’ll be eager to hear.”

***

For three days, they’d existed in a sort of icy detente. Every time Tony tried to talk to Bucky, Bucky was cool and formal and obliging but not at all _Bucky_.

Mrs. Barnes had made a few polite but pointed comments to Tony about Ty -- to be truthful, Tony had _forgotten_ about the man almost as soon as he’d left the room. But by the time Tony had gone to tell Ty that he should move out, Ty had already disappeared. Ty had always been good at knowing which way the wind blew. But Ty’s departure had not sweetened Mrs. Barnes’ disposition toward Tony at all.

Even Miss Barnes acted reserved when Tony was in the room, though she was somewhat warmer than Bucky.

Every time Tony tried to ask Bucky what he’d done wrong, Bucky just got even _more_ formal, assuring Tony that his Grace couldn’t possibly have offended. Tony kept trying, though. Eventually, he would figure it out. Then he’d be able to apologize for it and they could, maybe, move on.

This morning was more of the same. Bucky was already sitting to breakfast when Tony came downstairs. Remembering Bucky’s sweet tooth, Tony had told the kitchen to add sweet pastries to the breakfast fare, but if Bucky was eating them, Tony hadn’t caught him at it.

But Tony was bound and determined to keep trying. “Good morning,” he said as he came into the dining room.

“Your Grace,” Bucky said, without so much as a hint of inflection or warmth.

“Did you sleep well?”

“Well enough.” Bucky didn’t ask after Tony’s sleep in return, which was probably for the best since Tony hadn’t slept much at all. He’d tossed and turned, thinking of Bucky so close and yet so far away. Remembering the Bucky he’d known in Riker, endlessly sweet and warm, and wondering how he could lure back that version of him.

“Good morning, your Grace. Mr. Barnes. The post has arrived.” Jarvis passed a silver tray down the table to Bucky and another to Tony. Tony's held at least a dozen missives. Bucky's, only one.

“Steve,” Bucky said, fondness leaching through that frosty demeanor. “By your leave, your Grace?”

“Of course,” Tony said. He reached for the first of his letters and the letter knife. Nothing but tediousness in his pile, he assumed. “What business today, Jarvis?”

“Your Grace might wish to consider the matter of your ducal portrait,” Jarvis said with delicate emphasis. “It has been some time since you have assumed the seat, and yet the task remains unstarted.”

“That’s because I’ve yet to interview a painter who’s better at drawing than fawning,” Tony pointed out, already bored with the topic. “And I don’t see why I need one, anyway.”

“Little punk,” Bucky commented, looking down at his mail, a sweet smile painting his lips. He turned to his sister. “Listen to this, 'While I recognize that the New Year has given way to many opportunities, Buck, I have to say your rush to be crowned Idiot of the Year did not need to come so strong out of the gates. You shall intimidate all challengers with such an auspicious start, but also leave yourself nothing to do past March.’”

“Mr. Rogers is a painter,” Miss Barnes said, pertly. “You might get him to do the job, your Grace.”

“I’m-- what?” Tony blinked at her stupidly.

“The portrait,” she elaborated. “That you were just talking about? Mr. Rogers is an _excellent_ painter.”

“Becca, I'm not certain that Steve-- er, Mr. Rogers has a manner that would suit his Grace,” Bucky said, glancing at Tony warily. “Although I suppose in a practical sense, the patronage of a duke, especially for such an important work would go far in helping him get established.”

“And you want to see him,” Miss Barnes pointed out.

Tony tapped his fingers against the letter he’d just opened, considering it. He still had the ridiculous picture that Rogers had sent Bucky shortly after their meeting, and while it was only a rough sketch, Rogers had well captured Bucky’s features -- from memory alone, no less. He certainly couldn’t do worse than that one idiot whose concept for the portrait was to present Tony as a Roman god amidst a field of frolicing creatures.

And bringing Rogers to Inwood to visit Bucky might help to sweeten Bucky’s feelings toward him again.

“Jarvis, take care of that for me, if you’d be so kind -- inquire whether Mr. Rogers would like to come to interview for the job and arrange a carriage. I know one week is the usual, but since he’s a friend of Mr. Barnes, a longer stay would be welcome, if his schedule allows. The lilac suite, I think.” It wasn’t the nicest suite in the guest wing, but it had a lovely view of the gardens and was one of the warmer suites in the house when the weather turned cold.

Bucky was staring at him. “Thank you, your Grace.”

Well, it was still “your Grace,” but at least it wasn’t so cold. It was a start.

***

It was bad form to wait by the door like a common scullery maid but Bucky couldn’t help it. He was too excited to see Steve again to sit in one of the stiff backed chairs in the white parlor. He was getting the side eye from the Stark’s doorman, stuffy old thing that he was, and then, even worse, when said carriage finally did arrive, Bucky opened the door himself and ran out into the chilly air. He was practically dancing in place by the time the vehicle came to a halt, and like he’d done back when they were children and the Barnes’ still had a carriage of their own, he opened his arms for Steve to jump into.

“End of the line, punk,” Bucky whispered into his ear, hugging him hard.

Steve pounded his back and clung tight. “End of the line, jerk.” He pushed back and looked up at the house. “Wow, it’s like you’re a real swell now.”

“Not quite yet,” Bucky said. “The banns are being read at church, and the wedding’s in April, so… soon enough, I guess. I’m told this is the small, summer home, and that the ducal seat in Manhattan is at least three times this size, with a--” He imitated Jarvis’s tones “--much prized view of the river, where natural beauty and man’s good taste are happily aligned. Come inside, come inside, you shouldn’t get cold.” Bucky slung an arm around Steve’s neck, tucking him up against his side. He’d always liked how Steve fit, just right.

Steve put his arm around Bucky’s waist, like always. “All right, come and show me all around your big fancy house, and tell me _everything_.”

“I can’t tell you everything,” Bucky said. “It would take too long, and you don’t care about the part where I ain’t eating my vegetables. But first, his Grace.” Bucky sighed. He didn’t really want to introduce Steve to Tony.

There were too many things that Steve might say, especially if he believed Bucky to have been dreadfully wronged. _Which_ , Bucky thought firmly, _I have been_.

But Steve was the sort to champion Bucky without thought, and there were things he might say that Bucky would rather Tony not hear. “Try… for once, to have a little restraint, for my sake.”

Steve was already scowling, which wasn’t a good sign. “Am I gonna _need_ to have restraint?”

“I dunno,” Bucky admitted. “I don’t know anything anymore. Everything’s a mess, Stevie.”

Steve squeezed Bucky a little as they made their way into the house. “I’ll try to be good, and then you’re going to tell me about this mess. Deal?”

“S’much as I can,” Bucky said. He drew Steve down the hall toward the duke’s study, a slightly less comfortable and more formal room than the upstairs library. He rapped on the door. “Your Grace?”

Tony was at the desk, writing some correspondence. He glanced up and then immediately set aside his pen, pushing back his chair and rolling to his feet gracefully. “Come in, come in. You must be the famous Mr. Rogers.” He offered Steve a hand.

“Stevie,” Bucky said, withdrawing his arm from Steve’s shoulders. “His Grace, Anthony Stark. May I present my dearest friend, Steven Rogers?” He twisted around to see if the coachman or Jarvis were behind them. Steve usually had his portfolio with him, a selection of paintings and sketches that he kept for the purposes of displaying samples of his work. “And an artist of no small talent.”

“So I’ve heard,” Tony said. “Welcome to Inwood, Mr. Rogers. I hope you’ll enjoy your visit.”

“Thank you, your Grace,” Steve said. He hesitated, then accepted Tony’s hand. “It was good of you to invite me.”

“You can thank Miss Barnes for that,” Tony said. “It was her praise of your art that convinced me.”

“Not Bucky’s, huh?” Steve said, and Bucky heard the hint of challenge under that, even if Tony didn’t seem to notice.

“She spoke up first. I’m sure he would have suggested it if she hadn’t.”

“Your Grace is too kind,” Bucky said, and then he kicked Steve in the ankle, just knowing, _knowing_ , he was going to say something smart. Or stupid. With Steve, it was sometimes hard to tell the difference. Steve had a way of getting under Bucky’s skin, and this whole cold shoulder routine was going to go straight into the bin, if Bucky wasn’t extra careful.

The papers are signed, Bucky reminded himself. There was nothing Tony could do to change things now. It ached, how close Tony was, and at the same time, how far away.

“Well, I won’t keep you,” Tony said. “I’m sure you’ll want to rest and freshen up after the journey. Did you bring a portfolio? Excellent. Perhaps you’d like to show it to me tomorrow morning, say around ten?”

“At your service,” Steve said, with a sidelong look at Bucky.

Tony still didn’t seem to notice. “And you’ll dine with us tonight, I hope. I know Mr. Barnes has missed you terribly.”

“Not even a little,” Bucky promptly denied. Because really, he couldn’t be that much of a sap. In front of Steve, no less. “I mean, there’s nothing to him, he’s very hard to hit. He could turn sideways and disappear. So, I have to miss him. But I can adjust my aim.” And then he had to block a not-entirely mocking punch to the shoulder.

Tony looked amused, and it was the most genuine expression Bucky had seen on him since his arrival at Inwood.

“Jerk,” Steve said. “I’ll see you at dinner, your Grace.” He attempted a short bow -- it was almost as graceless as his dancing -- and backed out of the study, pulling Bucky with him.

“Grab your breadcrumbs, Hansel,” Bucky told him. “This place is enormous. Your room’s down this way. I think.”

Steve shoved him, and Bucky had to retaliate by scrubbing roughly at Steve’s hair. They were still roughhousing when they turned the corner, leaving the duke and his study far behind.

“You’re in the lilac room; the flower. Which is better than the red parlor, in which absolutely nothing is red, I don’t know why they call it that.”

***

His hand to God, Tony had only intended to stop in to make sure Mr. Rogers was settling in and that the lilac room was satisfactory to his needs. And when he heard Bucky’s voice coming through the door, he only meant to make sure he wouldn’t be interrupting anything important. But then he heard his name, and he couldn’t resist lingering to listen.

“I _ain’t_ bein’ stupid about Stark,” Bucky snapped. “Can’t believe you said that, Mr. picks a fight with three guys, all twice your size, at once.”

“Not like there ain’t enough stupid to be goin’ around, Buck! Just ‘cause the pot’s callin’ the kettle black don’t mean it ain’t true!”

“You’re so smart, then,” Bucky said. “What the hell am I supposed to do? You read the letters!”

“Sure, I read ‘em. And what I read was that you fell ass over teakettle in love with the man. So what’s changed?”

“ _Nothing’s_ changed,” Bucky said, and his voice cracked. He hitched in a breath and it sounded like a sob. “Don’t matter none. Hell, it’s _worse_. I can’t live like this, Stevie.”

“See, that’s where you lose me,” Steve said. “What’s so bad about havin’ to marry the fella you fell for? Maybe I’m just as dumb as you say I am, ‘cause that sounds like a happy ending to me. Explain it to me in little words.”

_Explain it to both of us,_ Tony thought. _Please._ Maybe Bucky would tell Steve what he wouldn’t tell Tony.

“God, lookit you blushing, Bucky Barnes,” Steve exclaimed.

“Shaddup,” Bucky said and there was a bit of a scuffle inside the room that ended with Bucky squeaking and giggling, before-- “Give, give, no tickling! Jesus. Cheater. No, I just… I didn’t say it in the letters, I didn’t want t’ write it down. You gotta swear not to tell anyone, not anyone, not _never_.”

“End of the line, Buck. You know I’ve got your back, always.”

“I… uh. I slept with him,” Bucky confessed. “Before…. Before I knew who he was, before he knew who I was.”

Steve let out a whistle, low and long. “Was it awful?”

“No, no, it wasn’t like that,” Bucky protested. “It… it was… I can’t even explain it, it was nothin’ like I thought it was s’posed to be. It was… it was _wonderful_.”

Tony bit his lip and leaned closer to the door, his insides squirming with glee.

“All right,” Steve said. “So... Perhaps that wasn’t ideal, I get it. But it’s a tolerable mistake, right? Turns out ya both slept with the right people!”

“We… uh. Talked about having an affair. After, we were going to go on to our loveless, arranged society marriages and step out, together. I agreed to that, I wanted that. Damn it, Steve, everything I was supposed to be, my honor, _everything_ , I would have thrown it away for him. He didn’t even ask, but… I’d have gone with him then, if he’d said let’s run off an’ have an anvil wedding. Even no weddin’. Broke my heart, leavin’ him.”

“An’ now you don’t _have_ to! Bucky Barnes, you are being more of an idiot than usual, and that takes some effort!”

“I ain’t,” Bucky protested. “He… he knows that. He knows what I done, he knows… I mean, of course he does, stop crossin’ your eyes, they’re gonna stick that way. Steve. He knows he can’t trust me. And I know I can’t trust him. Neither of us’s _worthy_. I don’t… I don’t deserve to be happy.”

Tony’s heart squeezed painfully. How could Bucky even think that? Maybe... Maybe Tony didn’t deserve it, but Bucky hadn’t done anything except fall in love!

“Huh, I suppose, Buck. So... You were willin’ to love him when he’d be unfaithful for you. But now you found out it’s you that he was gonna be unfaithful to, an’ you’re mad about it. Is that what I’m hearin’?”

“And Stone,” Bucky muttered, resentfully. “Everything he said, it sticks at me, like them bushes out behind our old place, remember, that left flat little seeds all over your pants? Pick one off and there’s a dozen more. And… just because he ain’t old, doesn’t mean th’ way he treated me before I even knew him was any better. He… still just ordered me t’ show up and see if I’d ‘suit’ him, like I was a book of poems or something. I can’t… I can’t square it in my head, how he can be _Stark_ , and still be my Tony underneath. Something’s a lie. And… Steve, I love him so much, I can’t stand it. I can’t even face the idea that it was a lie. So, if I don’t ask ‘im, I don’t have to know.”

“Yeah, I can see how well that’s workin’ out for you,” Steve said. “I gotta give you the point on the orderin’. Letter that came for me with the invite was damned full of itself, too. If it hadn’t been a ticket to come see _you_ , I mighta told him where to stick it.”

Well, at last there was something concrete for Tony to work with. He _had_ fucked up, not having Jarvis remove Ty immediately. And he probably _had_ treated Bucky more like a parcel than a man at the outset, for that matter, if only because he’d let Jarvis handle the whole awful transaction. Tony loved Jarvis, but God knew the man could be... stuffy, especially in correspondence. But those... those were things Tony could apologize for. Make amends.

“Still think I’m stupid?” Bucky asked, and his voice sounded too rough, followed by a loud, indelicate sniffle.

“Always,” Steve said promptly. “But I think you’re gonna find out you’re wrong on this one. Maybe he’s done some dumb shit, but I don’t think you saw the way he looked at you, either. That wasn’t the look of a man who was facin’ a loveless society marriage.”

“He could’a at least tried the knob,” Bucky sniffled. “I mean, I locked it, but he didn’t even check. I checked. Ain’t locked on his side.”

Steve was silent for a moment. “That... is the dumbest thing you’ve said yet.”

“You’re so helpful, I can’t understand why you ain’t got a rich patron yet,” Bucky declared. “Thought you were s’posed to be on my side.”

“I _am_ on your side, you dumb punk. I’m so far on your side that I’m tellin’ you to go make up with the rich swell you’re gonna marry, and then talk him into bein’ my patron.”

“I always worry when your advice is what I want to do anyway,” Bucky pointed out. “Seems all backward. Ug. Can’t believe you let me cry all over you, Stevie. Pathetic.”

“That’s how you know I’m a good friend.”

Tony backed away as quietly as he could. He didn’t want to embarrass Bucky by knocking while Bucky was having an emotional moment. But his steps felt lighter than they had in days. Bucky still felt for him -- _loved_ him! There was still hope, if Tony could just make Bucky see that he was the _real_ Tony.

He could do this. He was going to get his Bucky back.


	16. The Value of His Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which an unlocked door isn't opened and Bucky gets no sleep for all the wrong reasons. And everyone gets a little closer to the truth of the matter.

Breakfast was an unmitigated disaster.

Or maybe it just felt that way because Bucky hadn’t slept. At all. He had no idea how to broach the subject with Tony, how to start trying to figure anything out.

So he’d waited through dinner, watching Steve be weirdly charming, teasing his sister, catching them up on the gossip from Brooklyn, being nice to Tony (so weird) and Bucky hadn’t said much, except to answer questions. He was so busy _thinking_ that he didn’t even realize that he wasn’t talking. And when he did talk, he fell back into the formal, obliging but chilly manner he’d been maintaining since Tony arrived at Inwood. Even after Steve kicked him under the table.

After dinner, he retreated to his bedroom. Waited until he heard Tony puttering around in his own room.

And he crossed the room, leaned against the adjoining door, and unlocked it.

He stripped out of his clothes and laid down in bed to wait.

And waited.

And waited.

And _nothing_ happened.

He gave up on Tony paying him a visit when the downstairs grandfather clock chimed the three o’clock hour, but by that time he was feeling both angry and rejected and he couldn’t sleep any more than he could when his stomach was full of butterflies.

He wasn’t being coldly formal anymore, but he must have been _something_ , because Tony actually flinched when Bucky glared at him. It was only because Tony was between him and the pot of tea. But still.

Tony darted out of the way. “Good morning?” he tried tentatively.

Bucky poured himself a cup of tea and dumped about half the sugar bowl in it, too exhausted to care what anyone thought about his sweet tooth. He cradled the warm cup in his hand, breathing in the steam. He took a long sip and then-- why was his cup empty already? Damn it.

Poured another cup over the sugar sludge left in the bottom of the cup. Another sip. “They need to make bigger tea cups,” he decided. Sat down at the breakfast table. Almost -- almost -- put his head down on the table and went back to sleep. Nearly put his elbow in the butter dish. “Steeeeevie,” he whined.

Steve sat down next to him and patted his shoulder. “Are you doin’ okay, pal?”

“Tired,” Bucky said. He picked up his fork and started stealing breakfast off Steve’s plate. It was just too much work to get his own food. Which was kinda too bad, because Steve had a delicate stomach and mostly what he ate were unsalted eggs. _Gross_. Still. Getting up was hard.

“Didn’t sleep so good, huh?” Steve didn’t protest the loss of his breakfast, because he was a good friend.

“Not a bit of it,” Bucky admitted. “Remember that year we decided, what were we, like thirteen? That we could stay up all night? Feel like that.”

Steve patted his shoulder again. “‘Sall right, pal. You can take a nap while I show his Grace my portfolio. I’ll catch up with you after lunch.”

“Mmm,” Bucky managed. “Why’d you hafta stay so small? Wanna be carried off t’ bed.”

From his side of the table, Tony coughed violently. He waved off the footman who came forward to help. “Just swallowed wrong, I’m fine,” he croaked.

Bucky rested his head against Steve’s shoulder, but that was very uncomfortable. “Yeah, all right. Certainly. Don’t bite th’ duke’s head off.” He probably shouldn’t have said that outloud, but his brain was like a horse that had the bit in his teeth, and Bucky didn’t have any control of it. “Bed. Night. Morning. What _ever_.” He staggered upright, then glanced across the table where Tony was just staring at him, holding a piece of toast in one hand, like he’d forgotten he’d picked it up. “You--” he pointed at Tony, “are stupidly pretty. No, no, that’s not right. I’m stupid. You’re pretty.”

Bucky almost walked into the doorframe on the way out of the room.

He was negotiating the stairs when his valet caught up to him and slipped an arm under Bucky’s shoulders. “His grace suggested you might need some assistance,” he murmured.

“M’kay,” Bucky said. He closed his eyes and let the valet take him off to his bedroom. He tumbled onto the soft mattress, burying his face in the pillows and let his valet yank his boots off. That was plenty, Bucky was fine. “M’fine. Shoo.”

Ducal valets probably didn’t appreciate being told to shoo. Before Bucky could consider that too much, he was asleep.

***

Rogers was a bundle of twigs, nerves, and aggression wrapped in a cheap, ill-fitting coat. He heaved his portfolio into Tony’s office like it weighed a hundred pounds and leaned it against the desk, breathing hard. “So, are we doing this for real, or are you just humorin’ Buck?”

“I really need a portrait artist,” Tony said. “I’ll admit that knowing him is what got your foot in the door, but I won’t hire you if I don’t like the art. Fair?”

Rogers tipped his head to one side, finger-combed his cowlick out of his face. “Fair. Art’s half th’ artist, half the subject. ‘Specially portraiture. Here’s--” He thumbed through the portfolio and yanked out a piece of rolled up canvas that was nearly as tall as he was, unrolling it onto Tony’s desk. “--one of the best examples of my work in that field. Helps, maybe, that you know the subject.”

What he unrolled was an unorthodox pose, a young man laying on his back, as if viewed from above. Tree branches framed the pose as Bucky lounged in the grass, arms tucked behind his head, shirt open to reveal an expanse of his throat. His hair was spread out underneath him, one leg crossed over the opposite knee. He had a blade of grass in his mouth and he was smirking up at the viewer.

The breath caught in Tony’s throat at the sight of it. The pose, the look on Bucky’s face, that insouciant curve of his mouth... Tony wanted to dive into that picture, to kiss that mouth, to touch that skin. He forced himself to breathe again. “That’s... good. Very good. I’m impressed. You, ah, you’ve known him a long time, I take it.”

“I’ve known him my whole life,” Rogers said, simply. “Even when I had nothing, I had Bucky. Of course, not all my work is this… exacting. I had the advantage of being able to badger him into posing for me whenever I want. And I know him. I could draw him with my eyes closed. I don’t have that advantage with most of my subjects. For a commission, I can draw what I see… not how I feel about it.” He pulled out another picture, a miniature. The detail was good, Tony could almost see the woman breathing, but it wasn’t… quite the same. Of course, Tony might have been biased.

Tony glanced at Rogers sidelong. “Are you in love with him?”

“Are you?” Rogers challenged.

“Yes.” Tony hadn’t realized it until he said it. But what else could it be?

Rogers nodded. “Good.” He sat down on the edge of one of Tony’s chairs, looking for all the world like a kid trying to pretend to be an adult. “Buck’s… well, most of you take breathing for granted. You can just do it. I have… a nervous condition. I smoke datura, to help. I have to think about breathing, all the time. Buck’s… he’s like the air. Always there for me, even when I have to struggle for it. I love him. But I ain’t… _in love_ with him.”

Tony nodded, thinking of Rhodey and his effortless, constant support. “Good.” He considered the miniature of the woman. It was excellent, well-executed. Flattering without being false. “If you want the job, it’s yours.”

Rogers studied him over the tips of his steepled fingers. “How do you know? That you’re in love with him?”

“How does anyone know? I want him, but not like I’ve ever wanted anyone else. I need... I need him to be all right. I need him to be content and happy. I want him to smile at me again. He hasn’t smiled, really smiled, since coming here, I don’t think. Not until you came.”

“I’ll take th’ job,” Rogers said. He glanced down at the painting of Bucky, back up at Tony. “Nothin’ else, I don’t wanna miss this. Better’n a play, the two of you.” He paused for a long moment, then, “You wanna buy it?”

Tony started, stared. “You’d sell it?”

“Only to you,” Rogers said. “Only to someone who deserved it. Who would understand its value. I can’t hang it anywhere. I haven’t the room for it. It… should be seen.”

Tony nodded. “I’ll buy it. ...He won’t be mad?”

Rogers shook his head. “He won’t be mad. Tomorrow, we’ll go through your wardrobe, and you can tell me if you have any ideas for setting. I won’t paint you in something stupid. I don’t do that. Think about somethin’ you care about, favorite dog, chair, something. We’ll work from there. I’ll do some sketches.”

Tony nodded. “I’ll give it some thought.”

***

Inwood contained no less than four rooms for letter-writing and study, not even counting that most of the bedrooms had a desk, and there were portable writing desks for the asking. Tony generally used his formal study when he actually had to attend the duchy’s business, but Obadiah Stane also used that room, whenever he was attending. It seemed somehow traitorous to use the man’s desk to investigate, or that the very wood was soaked in it, influencing Tony’s decisions.

Nonsense, of course, but he gave Jarvis instructions to have the estate ledgers brought to him in his personal library.

Bucky had, for whatever reasons, frequented the room before Tony took up residence. There was nothing left of his presence in the room, even the letters and scraps Tony had found had disappeared.

But somehow, he felt closer to Bucky in that snug room, knowing that Bucky had sat here to write his correspondence and perhaps enjoy some of the many books of poetry or tales of adventures and romance that lined the shelves.

Tony hoped Bucky had enjoyed the room. Tony certainly wasn’t enjoying it at the moment; the estate ledgers were a complete tangle, even for a man of Tony’s considerable intellect. Some entries had been scratched out and rewritten several times, so that the actual numbers were practically impossible to read, and some of the written descriptions were so vague as to be utterly pointless.

What Tony did manage to uncover was that vast sums seemed to be going to unknown parties, for unknown purposes. Riker wasn’t the only village in the duchy with recently-raised taxes. It wasn’t even the most severely pressed. The increases had begun before Howard’s death, but afterward they had spiked sharply. And only the most urgent matters were being attended. Most of that money was going... elsewhere.

Tony wondered at first if Obie had become ill and was hoping to hide it from Tony -- but surely Obie knew that Tony would never have begrudged him money for doctors or treatments, if he needed them. Or if he had acquired a demanding mistress or companion and was ashamed to admit he’d exceeded his income.

But the deeper Tony dug, the more certain he became that these were no ordinary expenditures. Obie was diverting funds -- to whom? And for what? Was Obie being blackmailed, somehow? Hard to imagine; the man practically lived a monk’s life, devoted almost religiously to the management of Howard’s -- and now Tony’s -- various estates. But the only other possibility that Tony could imagine was even more terrible: that Obie had betrayed him.

Tony sat for a long while, brooding at the numbers before him and the story they told, incomplete as it was.

Well, he knew who to ask for answers, didn’t he? Tony had written to Obie shortly after his return to Inwood, mentioning the situation in Riker and asking for clarification, and Obie had yet to reply.

It was time to summon the man back from the city and demand a full accounting, unpleasant as that would be. Tony took a fresh sheet from his desk and sharpened his pen.

The problem with living in a home with servants was that it was nearly impossible to be left totally alone for any length of time without specific instructions. Footsteps in Tony’s bedroom heralded the approach of someone; perhaps a maid to tidy up his room and make the bed, or the scullery boy, shuttling firewood to keep the hearth blazing. Jarvis, with some bit of ducal business. The laundry maid, returning his clothing.

Tony leaned back in his chair, absently listening as the person moved around in Tony’s living space. A maid would beg his pardon, if she needed to clean, and return another time, but the scullery would try to lay out the fire in the library as quietly as possible. A house the size of Inwood was expensive to heat; that price went up in measures if the fires were allowed to die. He didn’t particularly want to be in the middle of writing a difficult letter while someone else was in the room, so he would wait and see.

The person moved from one side of the room, straight toward the library. The steps were heavier, and longer, than most of the maids. Not Jarvis; Tony would recognize that man’s stride anywhere.

A moment later and the door opened, Bucky slipping inside, a leather-bound book under one arm. He closed the door quietly behind him before--

“Oh! Ton-- Your Grace,” Bucky stammered. “I’m… my apologies, I thought… Jarvis said… I just came to--” He held up the book in explanation. “Forgive my intrusion, I’ll just put this away, and…”

“No, come in and stay a while, if you would,” Tony said. “Please.”

“If your Grace wishes,” Bucky murmured. He checked the spine of his book, as if the title had changed in the last moment, or he’d been startled enough to forget what he was doing. He made his way to the appropriate shelf -- Continental books, Tony saw -- and slid it into place. Bucky hummed thoughtfully, running his finger over the collection, before selecting _Decameron_. Well, that was both brave and ambitious.

Tony had put together this particular library of books to annoy Howard and to horrify his mother. Filled with racy novels and poetry in every language Tony could find, along with their English counterparts, translations, folios of nude arts, and a particularly well illustrated Hindi text called _Kama Sutra_. He had flipped through most of the books, at one point or another, but it primarily existed as a testament to the battles of wills between Tony and his father.

“I’m glad to see you’re enjoying the library,” Tony observed. “Found anything of particular interest?”

Bucky made a half-turn around the little room, spreading his arms as if to indicate all the books. “It’s all… lovely. _Passionate_ ,” Bucky said breathlessly. “I never saw so many books in my life that weren’t in a shop. I never even heard of most of these.”

Well, of course he wouldn’t. The sorts of shops that Bucky would have been allowed to patronize would only have carried titles like this in the gentleman’s room in the back. A debutante wouldn’t even be told of such a room’s existence, much less been allowed entrance. Some of the books, _Don Juan_ , for instance, had gained a certain amount of notoriety even among the eligible set. But most of them were considered quite off limits for the virginal.

“Good,” Tony said. “Enjoy all you like. I don’t get enough time to read, myself.” He hesitated. “Perhaps you’ll read to me again, sometime. I quite enjoyed that.”

Bucky’s eyes went wide and that bronze flush rode up his neck. “From _these_?” his voice cracked in the middle. His gaze went from Tony’s face to the floor, then, back up. His tongue flicked out to lick at his bottom lip. And then, almost coy, he let himself look at Tony from under the fringe of his lashes, and said, a little husky, “if your Grace so desires.”

“If _you_ desire it,” Tony corrected gently. “Bucky. I was unfair to you. I’m sorry.”

“There’s no need to trouble yourself,” Bucky said, and it was those damn formal tones again, but he couldn’t seem to stop _looking_ at Tony, and his finger was stroking the spine of the book in time with his breathing. “I’m quite well, you needn’t…” He stuttered to a halt, then, “What faults do you have to confess? I don’t--”

“You told me yourself, if I had only been listening,” Tony said. “Before. You told me that your betrothed had bought and paid for you like a horse. And I wasn’t paying attention. Because that was me. I did that to you, and I have no excuse save that I was angry that I must marry in such a hurry and I wanted as little to do with the matter as I could manage. Which was a terrible thing for me to do. To anyone, but especially to you.”

Bucky’s eyes were enormous. “How-- who’s forcing you? How’s that even _possible_? I, even I don’t _have_ to get married, if starving was preferable. Or taking up a number of less than honorable offers.” He averted his gaze, blushing again. “Duke Pierce offered quite a sum, to spend the night with him.”

“I can only imagine,” Tony said, though it wanted to come out in a growl. “You’re quite lovely. My hand is forced much the same as yours -- with threat of dispossession. My appointment to the seat stipulates that I marry a peer before my twenty-ninth birthday. A condition set by my father, perhaps because as a young lad I enjoyed too much the company of common children, or because he feared I would follow too closely in his footsteps as a wastrel. Who knows?”

“I didn’t know,” Bucky admitted. He put the book down on the table near one of the reading chairs. “I’m… sorry.” He took a few steps toward Tony, paused. “I know what it’s like, not having choices. Having too many people depending on you to take your chances. I’d considered the Army, if Becca had been older. She’ll make a fine match someday, and I wouldn’t have had to worry. The queen’s army needs soldiers in India and the Americas.”

Tony shuddered at the thought of Bucky shoved into that terrible uniform and thrown half-prepared into savage battle. “The Army can’t have you,” he said decisively.

“No, your Grace,” Bucky said, and there was nothing subservient in his tone, instead it was all heated teasing. “I belong to you.”

“No more than I to you,” Tony swore. He held out his hand, offering. Pleading. “Say you’ll forgive me. Or at least that I can earn your forgiveness.”

“Tony,” Bucky breathed, and his hand moved, took Tony’s, fingers gripping Tony’s wrist with shaky strength. “I want to. I… _want_ to, I swear, I do. But…” He grimaced. “I…” His shoulders moved up and down, a half-hearted shrug. “Stone.”

Tony winced. “Another way in which I failed you,” he admitted. “I should have dismissed him before you arrived. Letting him accost you here was...” He blew out a breath. “Proof of his lack of class.”

“You have the right to your companions,” Bucky said. “Most… would not have so openly… well, his behavior is on his own head. But, Tony. This is all I have.” He tapped himself on the chest. “If I give it to you again, I want to know you value it. Maybe I’m not jaded enough, or cosmopolitan. _Boring_ , Tiberius called me. That I… it’s wrong of me, I know it. Unfair. I would have willingly gone to your bed, left honor behind me, betrayed my spouse. And yet, I cannot. I can’t, please, understand. I have to protect myself. If you’re… going to go to Tiberius, or anyone else… Tony, it will destroy me. I never meant to feel like this. We’ll be wed, and I’ll do my best to be a good spouse to you, but if you’re going to touch someone else, I can’t let you touch me. Ever again.”

“Bucky, sweetheart.” Tony drew Bucky toward him on reluctant feet. “You’re not boring, not in the slightest. I never felt so alive as when we were together, or so desolate as when I had lost you.” He pressed his lips to Bucky’s knuckles, as fervently as he could. “I love you. I don’t want anyone else, not ever again.”

Bucky drew in a shuddering breath. “You do? I mean, you won’t? Do you promise? I mean… I… Tony, I…” He brushed his knuckles down Tony’s cheek, stared at him as if he was memorizing every line of Tony’s face. “Yeah, I… I love you. Too, I mean.”

It felt like the sun rising after an endless night. Tony’s face hurt, he was smiling so wide. He pulled Bucky closer still, into an embrace that he wanted never to let go. “Oh, thank God,” he murmured. “Thank _you_.”

“I didn’t mean to cause you pain,” Bucky was saying, his mouth brushing against Tony’s hair. “I… didn’t know that I _could_.”

Tony tucked his face into Bucky’s neck. “I should never have given you cause to doubt,” he murmured.

“I won’t do it again,” Bucky said. He stepped back, fingers tipping Tony’s chin. “If your Grace will permit me?” He licked his lips and then lowered his mouth toward Tony’s, stopping a bare inch away.

Tony angled his face and leaned into it, sealing their mouths together in a kiss that ached with relief and hope and love.


	17. All the Rest of It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bucky Barnes discovers all manner of wicked things that are allowed. And it is a very good thing that they are getting married.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continuing on from the last chapter, there is no plot here, only porn. Smut-averse readers, we will see you on Thursday. :D

Tony was kissing him, and it had been so long, and Bucky had been aching for the man for weeks. His chest hurt, too small to contain all his feelings, and he was struggling to breathe, not wanting to take his hands off Tony, not wanting to break off the kiss for something as trivial as air.

He wasn’t quite sure how it happened, but Tony stumbled and fell into the huge chair behind the desk and then Bucky was practically crawling over him, thighs spread wide, knees on either side of Tony’s hips. Bucky kissed him again, kept kissing him. His hands cupped Tony’s face, fingers threading in through Tony’s short hair.

Part of him worried, the open library door at his back, and then, with a sudden thrill, he realized there was nothing to stop them at all.

They were already engaged, and it might be a little forward, but certainly not a scandal. No one would do anything that was not already being done. Tony couldn’t ruin him, not at this point. “Oh,” he murmured, pulling back a little to breathe, before he could get too dizzy.

Tony’s hands were at his waist, thumbs lightly stroking, teasing up under Bucky’s waistcoat. He looked up into Bucky’s face with eyes that shone. “You’re so beautiful. Tell me what you want, sweetheart, and I’ll give it to you.”

Bucky squirmed, his insides heating impossibly, clenching up until his thighs ached with it. He had a sudden flash of imagining Tony in this same position and everything south of his bellybutton went stiff. “The rest of it,” he said. “I… wreck me, _ruin_ me, make me yours. Show me the rest of it, Tony. Please.”

Tony’s breath caught and his eyes searched Bucky’s face for a long moment, testing certainty, and then he nodded. “All right,” he said, and then smiled a little. “But not here. I want a bed, for this. Will you come to mine, or prefer yours?”

Bucky couldn’t help the happy laugh that bubbled up out of his throat. “I imagined the chair,” he confessed. “ _This_ chair, as a point of fact.” He still didn’t really know what he was doing, but he hadn’t been blind to Tony’s reactions and he shifted, grinding his hips down on Tony’s thighs, feeling, ah, yes, there, there it was, and, _oh_ , that felt good, pressing up into the vulnerable vee of his legs.

Tony let out a soft groan and his hands tightened on Bucky’s hips. “Did you?” He looked around the room as if seeing it anew. “Sweetheart, did you sit in here and imagine us together?” He looked utterly delighted.

“I _did_ ,” Bucky admitted. “I sat in your chair and thought about you and I was very naughty.” He could have _died_ , saying so, but the way Tony was staring at him just encouraged it. He would have done things ten times as shocking, just to get that reaction, the quickening of Tony’s breath, and the way his hands moved, untucking Bucky’s shirt to stroke the skin underneath. “Thought about bringing the Marquis of Riker here.” He wriggled again experimentally and smiled with satisfaction when Tony rocked up against him. “Although, you were in _my_ lap.”

“Naughty indeed,” Tony said admiringly. “And what did you do with me in your lap?”

“Touched you,” Bucky said. “Took all your clothes off, an’...” He reached down between them, traced a finger along the inside of Tony’s thigh. “Wondered if you’d like it, if I touched you, here.” He moved his hand down, brushing over the length of Tony’s shaft, down to the soft pouch beneath, and then further back. “I thought I might like it, if you did it to me. Rub your tool on me, right here.” He pressed against the opening of Tony’s body, a wicked, sinful place. Even Steve’s smudgy little drawings had blotted that out. Bucky’d seen a nude marble once, and he’d wanted to touch the statue’s round cheek, just to wonder what it would feel like on a man.

“Christ,” Tony swore. “You’ll be the death of me. Do you have any idea how... Nnnn.” His hands slid down over Bucky’s backside, squeezing through the fabric of his breeches. “I want to show you how good this can be.”

“An’ I want you to,” Bucky said, and slowly, with great reluctance, he slid backward off Tony’s lap. He flushed, realizing that there was no way Tony could miss the tent his trousers were making, but that was well enough, since Tony’s breeches were in no way flat, either. “Come to my bed,” he invited. “Show me everything.”

Tony took his hand and let him lead the way through Tony’s room and into Bucky’s. Tony caught Bucky’s lapels and pushed the jacket off his shoulders, then unbuttoned his waistcoat. “I want to see you, all of you,” he said. “You’re so lovely...”

Bucky nodded, and helped. He had to sit for Tony to pull off his boots and there was something heated building in his belly as Tony gave him even this little bit of service. Trousers landed on the floor and then Bucky was tugging off silken stockings and was completely bared in front of Tony, brazen. Bucky shivered with excitement. It was intimate and shocking and wonderful all at once. Tony just looked, and Bucky let him look his fill.

He was no longer ashamed of his body, of letting Tony see him like this, hard and ready and willing. It was _right_. It was natural. Tony was the only man Bucky would ever have to give himself to, the only one he wanted to give himself to. He leaned back on the bed, spread his thighs and invited Tony with every inch of himself. _Come to me, darling._

Tony looked at Bucky with something like reverence in his eyes, then leaned over Bucky, dropping kisses on Bucky’s mouth and covering Bucky’s body with his own, pressing them down into the mattress. It felt warm and safe and almost perfect. “God, how could I ever deserve you,” Tony whispered. “You’re so precious, so perfect.” He kissed the corner of Bucky’s mouth, the edge of Bucky’s jaw, nuzzled his way up to scrape his teeth along the rim of Bucky’s ear, breath curling hot.

Tony’s mouth moved down Bucky’s throat, licking and sucking, a whirl of sensation that made Bucky’s muscles clench. And then he slid downward and his mouth closed over Bucky’s nipple, tongue flicking and teasing until it stood up into a peak.

Bucky was hardly any of those things, so far from perfect as to be laughable, but in Tony’s arms, Bucky felt perfect, beautiful. That he was giving himself to someone who would treasure the gift. He arched into Tony’s mouth, wanting to scream, not with pain, but pleasure so great as to be unspeakable. Something powerful and addictive.

Tony suckled at him, caressed Bucky’s skin in hot, rhythmic waves and Bucky shuddered, wanting, wanting, riding those waves with wanton abandon. His arms went around Tony’s head, holding that wicked mouth to him. Every time Bucky thought it couldn’t possibly feel better, Tony did something else and it was more, and it was… oh, it was _glorious_. He hadn’t _forgotten_ the heat Tony raised in him, but he had lost the precise edge of it. Or maybe it just was better, knowing what culmination was to follow.

Tony sat up to remove his own clothes, tossing them onto the floor with abandon. He worked quickly, barely taking his eyes off Bucky. The moment he was undressed he was pressing against Bucky’s body again, pressing his mouth to Bucky’s skin, hot and wicked. He kissed over Bucky’s stomach, so low that Bucky felt his breath skating over the heated length of him, and then Tony placed a kiss at the tip of Bucky’s tool, tongue flickering.

Bucky practically shrieked in shock, muffling the sound against his forearm. He was dimly aware of his body thrashing, legs and hips bucking up into that hot wetness. “Oh, Tony, oh my god, you can’t-- Can you _do_ that?” How was something so wicked and tempting even _allowed_?

“I promise you, I absolutely can,” Tony said. He stroked Bucky’s side and leg, hands spread wide, like gentling a horse, and then did it _again_ , licking up Bucky’s entire length. “You did say to show you everything,” he teased. “Though I doubt we’ll get to it all in a single afternoon.”

_How much could there possibly be?_ Bucky wondered. He arched again, unable to resist the lure of Tony’s mouth on him. The few times Bucky’d been given a warning of what to expect from his marriage duty, he’d been told to stay still, let his husband do what he wanted, and that it would be over quickly.

Bucky didn’t want it to be over quickly, and he certainly didn’t want to _be still_. He wanted to move and squirm, to wrap his arms and legs around Tony and hold on tight, he wanted to experience it all, the way his nerves were tingling, the way his skin was so hot, the way Tony moved over him like a natural phenomenon.  

“Perfect,” Tony praised again, and his mouth was still moving, soft, short licks all up and down Bucky’s length, but his hand was sliding downward, down to press between Bucky’s cheeks, circling the opening there.

The soft touch was maddening; waves of sensation pinned him in place, and at the same time, it was tickly and unbearable, making him squirm and writhe. He couldn’t decide how to move, to push away from the touch or to push into it, and he was practically vibrating in place. His legs fell open wide, as if his body knew better than he did. The muscle there squeezed and fluttered in response to Tony’s questing finger.

This was the part, Bucky understood suddenly. The part that boys whispered about and that they had a dozen names for that explained nothing. Buggering. Sodomy. Taking it bent. Bucky shivered. It was supposed to hurt, the first few times, he’d heard, but at the same time, it was impossible to imagine Tony causing him pain. Tony had always treated Bucky with infinite kindness. And still, he felt the first threads of panic.

“Will… does it hurt?” He couldn’t help but ask. He wasn’t entirely sure he _cared_ if it did. The heat and tight, clenching ache were great encouragement. And he knew what Tony could do for him, at the ending, that white flash of pleasure, so sublime.

Tony pressed a gentle kiss to Bucky’s thigh, then sat up to look in the drawer beside the bed. “It might burn a little,” he admitted. “As you stretch. But it shouldn’t _hurt_. You must tell me immediately if it does. If I do anything at all that you don’t like.” He came back, a small bottle of oil in his hand. “I don’t want it to be unpleasant at all.”

“It won’t be,” Bucky said with sudden surety. He’d been right all along, this was for Tony to do, these things were for Tony to show him. “Come kiss me.” That mouth on his would help him, would make him hot and desperate and lift him up, Tony’s weight on him would hold him down, and Bucky felt his apprehension drop away. He spread his legs wide, knees bent to cradle Tony between them.

This was power; bringing Tony pleasure and taking it from him.

Tony stretched up to kiss him and the kisses were no longer sweet and delicate but open-mouthed, hot and urgent. Tony’s tongue dipped into his mouth and mapped every inch, matching Bucky’s own rising fervor.

Tony’s finger slipped inside him, only a little, moving slick and smooth from the oil. It pulsed in and out a few times and it felt odd, very odd, but not at all painful. Bucky barely noticed until he realized it was in him further, and then further still, pressed as deeply as it could go, Tony’s knuckles brushing his bottom. “There you are,” Tony murmured. “You feel so hot and tight -- tell me if it hurts, sweetheart.”

Bucky wiggled, testing. “It doesn’t hurt,” he said, then looked up to meet Tony’s eyes, normally an amber-brown, but now darker, the pupil deep enough to drown in. It wasn’t painful, it _wasn’t_ , but it was also so strange, and it made Bucky fiercely squirmy. Talking about it just made it worse, squirmier, until Bucky was going to go mad with needing… something. He felt like a hooked fish, muscles jerking this way and that, totally without his direction.

Tony’s finger in him made his tool heat, almost itch in a way. He desperately wanted to rub against something, to ease that pressure. He needed… needed Tony to do something, something else, something _more_. He opened his mouth to tell Tony any of this, to try to express it, and his body moved again, a sharp jerk of his hips, and what came out of his mouth instead was an aching cry. “Tony, _please_!”

“All right, sweetheart, I’ve got you.” Tony’s finger pulled out, and it had felt odd but now that it was gone, Bucky wanted it back; it felt even stranger to be empty. Then he was teasing at Bucky’s hole again, tugging lightly at the rim, and -- oh, _oh_ , there was the burning feeling, as two fingers pushed slowly inward. “That’s it, that’s perfect,” Tony crooned. “God, look at you.”

He couldn’t even think, it was so much. It ached and he panted, trying to ease himself through it. Like a muscle cramp, it stretched and flexed and protested the invasion. Bucky found his hands clamped tight on Tony’s shoulders, his fingers biting into the skin there, probably too hard, and it was too much, and he was going-- he was going to tell Tony to stop, that he didn’t, couldn’t…

Tony twisted his fingers, the ache intensified and suddenly--

All the air rushed out of his lungs at once as Tony touched something inside him, something Bucky hadn’t even known was _there_. Every bit of heat in his body rushed to that little spot and then spilled out in a torrent of pleasure, zinging up his spine, and down to the balls of his feet. “Oh, oh, what--” Bucky found himself nearly bowed up entirely from the bed, trying to push into that teasing touch. Each brush was galvanizing. He was utterly lost, completely giving up control of his body, it wasn’t even his anymore, it was _Tony’s_.

“I like to think of it as a reward for pushing through the burn,” Tony said, and Bucky could hear the smile in his voice. “That’s it, that’s exactly it, sweetheart, just let go and let me in.” He kept brushing and pushing against that place inside. The ache faded and bled away and Tony hummed softly in approval, still murmuring praise and encouragement, finger working in and out, stretching and pulling and driving Bucky mad with need.

Finally, he pulled out and leaned over Bucky, hooking Bucky’s knees over his arms. “Ready for me, sweetheart?”

Bucky was shivering, covered with sweat. The ache was back, but it was for the horrible emptiness inside. Everything clenched and fluttered and, he just, he could-- “Tony, yes, yes,” because he knew Tony would make it better, he’d make everything better. He reached, tugging at Tony, trying to bring him closer. Welcoming him in. It was supposed to be Bucky, giving himself to Tony, but he felt that was backward, that Tony was the one giving Bucky himself. All of himself. “Want it. Want you.”

Tony pushed into him, and it ached but it was also good, and Tony groaned like he’d never felt anything so good. “Oh, sweetheart, you feel so perfect,” he gasped. “God, I love you.”

For a long moment, Bucky was paralyzed. Tony was _huge_ , and it was almost like being split in half, and he couldn’t imagine how any of this was supposed to work. Everything inside him squeezed like his body was preparing to push Tony out, to rid itself of him, and that squeeze made Tony shudder as if he could feel it, too. It wasn’t bad, it wasn’t… he was stretched practically to bursting, impaled on Tony, invaded and overrun and then-- Tony moved, just a little, a tiny shift of his hips.

And Bucky felt suddenly, overwhelmingly _connected_. Like he and Tony were becoming one body, one whole person, where he’d only ever been half before, and he hadn’t even known to miss it, but now that he had it, he never, _ever_ wanted to let it go. Like a key in a lock, Tony opened something inside him, and he gazed at Tony, soft and sweet, even in the middle of this fevered passion, brushed the errant lock of hair from Tony’s forehead with infinite tenderness. “I love you,” he told Tony. It seemed the most important thing he’d ever said in his life. He couldn’t stay still any longer, rolled his hips up to meet Tony.

Oh, oh, _god_ , Tony wasn’t even close to being fully inside him. Each movement sunk him deeper, until Bucky wasn’t sure where he ended, where Tony began, and Tony’s movements brushed that little place inside him, that desperate, bright secret, driving Bucky to greater efforts. He wanted to scream, moan, beg, anything. Everything. His legs wrapped around Tony’s hips and he tightened his thighs. He licked at Tony’s neck, his ear, and then, “if you love me, then _love me_.”

Tony moaned. “I do, I love you, I--” He shifted his arms and pulled out, almost entirely, then sank back in, a little easier this time. And then again, and again, and he was as deep into Bucky as their bodies would allow, straining for more, deeper. “Bucky, you feel so. So good, so...” He moved again, wrapped a hand around Bucky’s tool and stroked it lightly.

And that, that was… oh, oh. Bucky didn’t even know something could feel so good. He rocked up into Tony’s touch, a perfect, slick slide, and then backward, thrusting himself down onto Tony’s length, filled and stretched and pushed and pulled. He was near delirious with sensation. His breath seared his lungs, his heart pounded in his chest. He couldn’t stop clinging to Tony, rubbing against him, every inch of him crying out for every inch of Tony. He was shameless, begging Tony for more, more, as Tony moved him, and moved in him.

When he came, shuddering with spasms of pleasure, he did it screaming Tony’s name.

When he came back to himself, Tony was hanging over him, limp and panting, sprinkling kisses along the side of Bucky’s face and neck. “Oh, sweetheart,” Tony gasped. “That was... that was perfect.”

Bucky wasn’t sure why he was so exhausted; it seemed that Tony had been doing all the work. But Bucky snuggled into the soft blankets, lethargic and content. He’d done his marital duty, and by Tony’s word, done it well. It wasn’t a duty, perhaps, but a pleasure so great as to be unspeakable. Everything in him felt loose and relaxed and easy, like a big ball of yarn just untangled. He wasn’t entirely sure what he was supposed to do now, but he nuzzled at Tony’s mouth, left his eyes closed, and wondered if it would be rude to fall asleep.

Still wondering, he drifted off.


	18. Calling into Question

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Steve peeks in a keyhole, Tony has a collection that Bucky wants to see, and Obadiah Stane arrives to defend his decisions. And in which Hammer is shown to have his finger in a lot of pies.

Inwood had never been so full of light and love, Tony was thinking. Miss Barnes had made the acquaintance of several of the neighborhood youths; not yet out, but teetering on the edge of adulthood, and Tony’s home was often overflowing with giggling young men and women, tucked into every corner.

Bucky went from being everything proper to being all things delightful. He was still a scamp, getting into mischief with his sister, horrified Jarvis by bringing an entire litter of early-born piglets into the kitchen, performed on his viola in the afternoons.

He’d even selected a particularly naughty poem, about a night’s wet dreaming, and read it to Tony in private, using that expressive voice and those wide, still-innocent eyes to great effect, enticing and teasing. And then, the little minx, he’d closed the book and laid it aside, kissed Tony’s cheek almost chastely, and retreated to his bedroom, leaving Tony rock hard and stunned.

That had lasted all of ten minutes before Tony took advantage of the unlocked adjoining door and then proceeded to demonstrate all the ways in which being pinned down and wriggling could be entertaining.

Even Mrs. Barnes had relented, mostly, and had stopped treating Tony like a pile of vegetable scraps that needed to be thrown in the midden.

Tony was content, everything was peaceful--

“No!” That was a horrified screech. That was Mr. Rogers, voice high-pitched with sudden concern. “Give’t back!”

“No, no, I want to see what you’re looking so--”

Something crashed to the floor and Bucky made a sound like someone had knocked the wind out of him. Another crash, and were they actually smashing the furniture? Tony knew they were prone to wrestling and horseplay, but this sounded somewhat more serious.

“Cheater!”

Tony made his way out of the library and followed the sound of the argument. Bucky and Rogers squabbled like siblings, but he’d never heard it turn so serious.

“I stole it, fair and square,” Bucky protested, “Jus’ lemme look--”

“Buck--”

“Oh, my god.” There was a soft thump and then, Bucky repeated himself. “Oh, my god, Steven Grant Rogers!”

“Buck, come on, just… can we not talk about this?”

Tony finally traced the voices to the red parlor, where he found Bucky staring wild-eyed at Rogers’ sketchbook, Rogers looking furious, and both of them nearly as red as the room’s namesake. Several chairs and a sofa had been overturned. “I wasn’t aware I’d need to hire a nanny to keep leads on the two of you,” he remarked.

Rogers groaned from his position, kneeling across Bucky’s chest and reaching for the pad of paper in Bucky’s hand. He covered his face. “You’re gonna get me sacked,” he moaned. “ _Arrested_ , even.”

“ _I’m_ gonna--” Bucky squawked. His gaze was drawn, as if by a magnet, back to the sketchbook and he stretched out, keeping the book out of range of Rogers’ grabbing hand. “You drew it!”

Well, now Tony was definitely curious. He made his way to Bucky’s side. “May I see?”

_That_ got a reaction as both of them went pale. Bucky’s face was an agony of mixed glee and mortification, and Roger’s was belligerent, chin pushing out defiantly.

Tony raised his eyebrows and held out his hand for the book.

Rogers poked Bucky in the ribs, eliciting a squeal. “Go on, give it to him. Might as well be hung for a chicken as an egg.” He climbed off Bucky’s chest and stood up. “Your Grace.” He snatched the book from Bucky and handed it over.

“Stevie, I--” Bucky gulped. “Tony, you might not want--”

But Tony was already flipping through the book, dozens of partials. A shaded rendition of the Barnes family, in front of the fireplace, nearly a dozen pairs of disembodied hands, and Tony was surprised to see that he recognized Bucky’s, as well as Jarvis’, and Tony’s own among them. A few landscapes, copies of two of the portraits that hung in the gallery upstairs, and then--

Done in a vignette style, to draw attention to the cavorting figures that made up the main focus, was the ducal spouse’s bedchamber. The bed curtains hung loose, the suggestion of the wallpaper, a corner of the wardrobe. On the bed, seen in profile, were Bucky and Tony. Tony wasn’t quite so clear, only the side of his chin and the tip of his nose, and one eye were visible. He was gazing intently on the man in front of him. But he was quite naked, the sketch showing off every loving line of his backside and thighs as he pushed into Bucky, sprawled in front of him. The angle of bodies, one of Bucky’s legs was pushed back, kept the image from being actually obscene, but it was quite clear what they were doing. Bucky’s face was half covered with his hair, and his head was tipped back, mouth open, that glorious throat on full display.

Tony held it out at arm’s length. “Huh. That’s quite good. Keyhole?”

Rogers nodded. “I told you, I draw things I can feel. I… didn’t mean t’ spy, but Buck was yellin’ and I wanted to make sure… that he wasn’t bein’ hurt.” His fists clenched at his sides. “I wasn’t plannin’ on anyone ever seein’ it, you have to believe that.”

“Oh, I can well believe that,” Tony said. He tipped his head, still examining it. “Bucky, you may want to consider moving a screen to the foot of the bed.”

Bucky made a strangled noise. “I might consider throwin’ myself off the roof,” he said.

“Buck,” Rogers protested. “I didn’t mean nothin’ by it, it just…” He used his balled up fist to thump himself on the chest. “You know that, right? I… look, we can burn it, if you want.” And that obviously cost him something to offer, the artist’s gaze going back to the notebook with a mute appeal.

“Absolutely not,” Tony said. He closed the book and handed it back to Rogers. “However, I might commission my own copy.”

Rogers tucked the book protectively under his arm. “Buck?”

“Don’t… jus’ don’t do it again, if you please?” Bucky managed. “You lookin’ at me, like that, that’s… like me seein’ Becca in her wedding knickers.”

“Rather more than that, I’d think,” Tony murmured. “But I’m interested that the bed was so strategically placed. I wonder how much entertainment the servants have garnered from it over the years.”

Bucky squeaked, making an abortive jerk of his arms, like he was trying to cover up.

“It’s not th’ keyhole,” Rogers said, seriously, “or the bed. It’s the dressing mirror. I had to flip the image on paper. Someone probably moved it.”

“Well, that’s easily remedied,” Tony observed. He put an arm around Bucky’s waist and pulled him in close. “At least it was your friend who found it out?”

“I’ve seen you in your linens before, Buck,” Rogers pointed out.

“Yeah, but… this was  _personal_.”

Rogers shrugged, obviously relieved that Tony wasn’t going to fire him, or have him arrested or something else equally unpleasant. “It was beautiful,” he said. “I… you know I love beautiful things. Weren’t no harm meant in it.”

“I didn’t think there was,” Tony agreed. “Still, I’ll have a copy. Every ranking peer has a collection of naughty pictures, you understand. It’s practically a requirement.”

Bucky flushed, but his eyes darted back to the folio with obvious interest. Then he pointed a stern finger at Tony, “You’re gonna show me this collection.”

Tony smirked. “ _Now?_ ”

***

They were nearly finished with the soup course, a roasted cauliflower and leek in cream that Bucky was finding surprisingly delicious, when Jarvis appeared in the doorway.

“Your Grace, Sir Stane has arrived, at your word. Shall I set another place, or install him in his customary quarters and send up a tray?”

Bucky took another spoonful of soup -- it really was quite good -- before putting his spoon down. “Who’s Sir Stane?”

“My estate manager,” Tony said, “and my father’s before me. Bring him in to dinner, if he likes, Jarvis. He’s come all this way to see me.”

The servants were involved in laying out the entree, roasted pheasant over rice with vegetables, when Jarvis announced the man. Sir Stane was tall, broad shouldered and built like an ox. He was bald, but had enough eyebrow and beard to make up for it. His suit was well tailored, with an embroidered waistcoat. “Tony, m’boy,” he greeted Tony with outstretched arms. “So good to see you.”

Tony stood up to return the man’s avuncular embrace. “Obie,” he said. “Good of you to come. I know you like to keep to the city until at least March.”

“Anything for you, Tony,” he boomed.

“Let’s do the honors: Obie, this is Mr. Barnes, whom I’m sure you’re aware is my betrothed. Bucky, Sir Obadiah Stane, my estate manager and advisor.” Tony went around the table, introducing Ma and Becca, too. Steve got a brief nod as Bucky’s childhood friend, rather than as his position in the ducal household. “Pull up a chair and have some dinner,” Tony suggested. “We’ll save business for later.”

Stane rubbed his hands together gleefully at the meal and took the seat across from Bucky, leaning on either his higher rank, or familiarity with Tony and the Stark family. They hadn’t been particularly keeping to rank and order for dinner, but the way Stane’s chilly eyes swept over them, not quite fitting with his affable expressions and tone, Bucky found himself being judged and found lacking.

It made him wonder if he and Ma should swap seats for the rest of Stane’s visit; her rank being somewhat higher than his, at least until Bucky and Tony were married.

“Always did set a good table,” Stane commented, tucking in with relish.

“Well, you know me, Obie. I enjoy life’s pleasures.” The mild tone Tony used made Bucky glance his way; from the way Tony was watching his advisor, he wasn’t quite as relaxed and easy as it seemed. But he merely made small talk, inquiring about the trip in from the city and asking after several mutual acquaintances.

The dinner passed with a minimum of awkwardness, although Stane had a tendency to dominate the conversation. He was loud, almost boorish, and prone to telling _on dits_ that pointed out his close relation with this or that lord, and how this and the other clergyperson depended on his advice. He spoke expansively about artists and musicians that were in his patronage, to the amusement of no one, and talked over pretty much anyone else.

Steve was scowling by the time the removes were done, and Ma’s expression was too sour for the sherbet she was eating. Depressing, really, because the mint and lime was really worth savoring.

Becca, on the other hand, resorted to her usual antics when she was feeling stifled at dinner and Stane was going to find a handful of peas had been poured into his suit pocket at one point.

Finally, the dinner was over. Tony stood and gestured toward the door. “Care to join me in the study, Obie?”

“Cigars and brandy?” Stane raised one bushy eyebrow with interest. Honestly, it was as if the man had trained caterpillars glued to his face.

“If you insist,” Tony agreed. He turned to Bucky. “Will you join us, or go with the ladies and Mr. Rogers?”

Bucky slanted a look at Stane, then dropped into a graceful half-bow. “If your Grace so wishes my company, I’m honored to attend.”

Tony raised an eyebrow at him, but his lips were fighting valiantly against a smirk. “This way, then. We’ll see the rest of you in the drawing room in a while.” Bucky already knew the way to the study, and obviously Stane did as well, but Tony led them through the halls as if they were both newly arrived.

In the study, Tony leaned against the big desk as he poured out measures of brandy for them and offered around a box of cigars, which only Stane accepted. Bucky had smoked, once before, having stolen one from his father’s store when he was all of fifteen. He’d promptly turned green and considered throwing up. Steve had said he smelled and sounded like a dying whale for the next few hours, even while he was patting Bucky on the back to help him cough it out.

“All right, m’boy,” Stane said, “what’s the all about?”

“I was inspired to look over the books,” Tony said, “and I noticed some peculiarities. I thought you might like to tell me why you’ve been diverting funds. Is it gambling, opium, blackmail?”

Stane took a long draw off his cigar, held the smoke in his mouth, and then blew it out. Tony’s cigars smelled somewhat less horrible than Bucky’s father’s, but they were still pretty thick. Bucky took a seat in one of the leather chairs and considered his glass of brandy, as if completely uninterested in the conversation.

Brandy, he discovered, was delicious.

“Bribes,” Stane said. “House of Lords have gotten greedy, it costs a bundle to purchase a vote these days. And some repairs to your town home. Even though you are rarely in residence, we can’t have the roof falling down, can we? And Howard approved the North wing to the ducal seat, as a paean to your mother. You approved those plans, signed for the work.”

“It’s bigger than that, Obie -- _and_ you farmed out that work to outsiders instead of hiring within the county or even the duchy. Why?” Tony’s arms crossed, the snifter dangling elegantly from his long fingers.

“I told you. Bribes,” Stane said. “You know the queen wants to withdraw our settlements in the Americas and India? Hell, boy, most of our-- your. Most of your wealth comes from weapons sales. And in order to make weapons, we need iron. We’re iron mongers, boy, that’s what we do. If Parliament approves the withdrawal, sure, peace in our times, but your high kick lifestyle’s right down the drains.”

“You’re warmongering?” Tony demanded. “Obie, that’s... It’s our people who are going off to die in those wars, you know.”

Bucky lifted his glass of brandy, considering the rich liquid inside and how it clung to the sides of the glass. “Trains take iron, too,” he said, tentatively adding an opinion.

Tony smiled at him. “He’s got a point,” he told Stane. “We can be profitable without selling weapons.”

Stane scrunched his mouth up, as if he’d bitten a lemon, but then shrugged. “You’re the Duke, of course,” he said. “Look, we’ve established some expectations. Howard set me on the track, oh, years before he… well, nevermind that. We can back off, but it’ll be slow going. Those lords, they’ll get vocal, if we cut them off right away. Old scandals might come out. Give a new direction takes time, big as this machine is. I can run some numbers, get some costs run up. That’ll take money, too, if you want to put engine factories on the land, but jobs, right? I’ll hire local, on your word.”

“Work it up,” Tony told him. “I want it in clear writing. And get me a list of the lords you’re bribing and with how much. I may be able to bring other pressures to bear. And for God’s sake, find a way to lower the taxes this year. The people are going hungry, when it’s our duty to protect them.”

“I’ll see what I can manage,” Stane told him. “The biggest hurdle is Hammer. His bribe’s enormous, and he’s the one with leverage on you, Tony. I’ve been trying to protect you from it, but it you go kicking up that nest, the hornet’s going to sting you.”

Bucky’s eyebrows went up. Hammer had been a foul name in the Barnes’ household for years. His fingers tightened on his glass. “What leverage does Hammer have on _Tony_?”

“I’m wondering that myself,” Tony said. “He’s a pissant.”

“Your… father was indiscreet, we all know that. Howard, well, he had the seven year itch for most of his life. He took a companion for a while, Dottie. There was a miniature of her in the study, you might have seen it once or twice as a boy?” Stane shrugged. “She was looking for money, and found out a few things. Stole some letters. When Howard wouldn’t meet her price, she sold them to Hammer. They… well, we all know about Howard, but Maria might have had her companion as well. Liked herself a strapping footman from time to time, and the calendar of events calls your legitimacy into question, my boy.”

Tony straightened, setting his glass aside. “Like hell it does. How many times have I been told I’m the spitting image of Howard?”

“The timing, m’ boy. Howard was in France for two months around th’ time you were conceived, and the letter’s in your mother’s own hand,” Stane said. “You think I would pay that much, without seeing the evidence with my own eyes?”

Tony picked up his glass and downed half of it in a single gulp. “There’s got to be a mistake in there somewhere. And we can’t-- My parents are _dead_ , Obie. Who are we going to ask?”

“I’m sorry,” Stane said. “Everything I’ve done, m’boy, everything, has been to protect you -- sometimes even from yourself. And to bring this duchy up to its pinnacle glory. For you. You deserve that much, you always did. You’re th’ most powerful man in the land, it’d be a terrible waste of your talents if this was to come out. Even if we can find proof that it’s false, you know how whispers are.”

Tony sank back against the desk, slumped, and pinched at the bridge of his nose as if he had a headache. “We’ll... I’ll figure something out. I want that list tomorrow, and a workup for factories in the next month.”

Stane nodded. “You just let me take care of everything,” he said. “You lay low, keep doing what you’re doing. Don’t draw attention to yourself. I’ll get it done.” He clapped Tony’s shoulder, gave him a companionable squeeze. “Mr. Barnes.”

Bucky stood and gave the man a quick bow, waiting until he’d closed the door and his footsteps faded.

“Tony?”

“Yeah, sweetheart.” Tony didn’t look up.

“Are… that was a shock. Are you all right?” He put his hand tentatively on Tony’s, feeling how cold Tony’s fingers were.

Tony groped after Bucky’s hand, clasping it almost too tightly, and pulling it in to kiss his fingers. “It can’t be true.”

“I’m sure it’s not,” Bucky said. “If… if your father knew of these letters, why did he do nothing? If he thought you weren’t his son, why name you heir? Why… why would he offer to reward my father for saving your life? It’s a lie. Like all the lies that Stone told. An angry companion, losin’ their position. I don’t believe it for a minute.”

Tony kissed his fingers again, more fervently. “Thank you.” He took a breath, and another. Held it, and let it out slowly. “There’s a way out of this. There must be. Even if I must endure the scandal. He named me heir, no matter my parentage. There has to be a limit to how much we can allow Hammer to hold over us.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Bucky promised. “I… bad question, maybe, but… do you trust Sir Stane? He’s offering bribes and dealing with blackmailers without ever telling you? That doesn’t sit right with me.”

Tony shook his head. “I don’t know. A month ago, I’d have told you he was my own right hand. How do I reconcile that with a man who’s warmongering and lying about where the money’s gone?”

“We’ll figure it out,” Bucky promised. “And I’m with you, no matter what. I know I don’t need to tell you that, but maybe you need reminding. You have support, Tony. _Family_. We’ll do whatever we can to help.”

Tony pulled Bucky in and hid his face against Bucky’s neck and didn’t say anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poem: Robert Herrick’s The Vine. (In which Tisfan shows off more of her ridiculous English degree.)


	19. A Lot of Pompous Nonsense

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the previous duke’s painting is critiqued and Bucky keeps Inwood from being burned to the ground. Letters are written and read, the lovers are parted, and Bucky does not cry in front of his mother. Also, Steve Rogers is a genius, but you knew that already.

Tony rose before the sun the next morning. He’d had enough of pretending to sleep. He threw on his robe and padded barefoot through the house to the ballroom, where the portraits of his forebears were displayed. He stopped in front of the picture of his father, who’d chosen to be portrayed with a naked sword in one hand and a smith’s hammer in the other.

It was supposed to symbolize something about building the duchy and protecting it, or some such pompous nonsense.

Tony stared up into Howard’s face, searching those austere features. Tony had his mother’s eyes, everyone who’d known her said that. But aside from that, it was always said how much Tony looked like Howard.

“Terrible brushwork,” Rogers said, coming up beside him. He smelled oddly, like opium and smoke.

“What are you doing up? Even the servants are asleep.”

“Laying down sometimes aggravates my condition,” Rogers said. “It’s hard to breathe when your lungs are filling up with water. So, I don’t always sleep well. I’ve never seen the original, is it much like him?” Bucky, of course, had immediately confided in his friend; they all, he reasoned, had to stand together against a potential scandal.

“It’s a reasonable likeness, yes. He looks a good deal more noble here than he ever did in real life.”

“Painter was licking his brush,” Rogers said. “Look, you can see here, the way the end ripples.” He pointed at a particularly vivid flower that Howard’s boot was resting on. “Not that it’ll be noticed from the other side of the room. Still, tacky.” He gave Tony a shrug and a smile. “This scandal, it’s gonna affect Buck, ain’t it?”

“I’m afraid so. If it gets out he’s marrying -- or already married -- to a bastard...” Tony sighed. “I might not lose everything, but it won’t be the life of luxury I’d hoped to give him.”

“You’d be surprised what Buck don’t need to be happy,” Rogers said. “He’s loyal. With you ‘til the end.”

“I know,” Tony said, and he did. Bucky being disloyal hadn’t even crossed his thoughts. “But he deserves better. And he has his family to think of.”

“I wasn’t too sure at first,” Rogers said, “but I think he deserves you. And you deserve him.” He turned around and leaned against the wall, breathing harder. Each exhale had a squeaky little whine attached to it. “There’s no proof of your bloodline? Did your father treat you like an interloper? Act like you weren’t his son?”

Tony barked a laugh. “My father was a hard man, Rogers. If he thought I wasn’t his son, I expect I’d have been out on my ear sooner rather than later. And my mother with me.”

“She leave a diary behind? If she wrote letters, talking about an affair? What about her maid? My mother was friends with several ladies’ maids, and let me tell you, the gossip my mother learned, it would scorch that little beard of yours right off. Ladies tell their maids _everything_.”

Tony looked at him. Why hadn’t he thought of that? Howard and Maria had died in a carriage accident, but the servants had been following in another carriage. They’d all survived, beyond the coachman and footman on the lead carriage.

“Rogers, if I wasn’t spoken for, I’d kiss you right on the mouth.”

Rogers raised an eyebrow. “If it wasn’t Buck who was speaking for you, I might let you.”

Tony barked out a surprised laugh. “It’s the animal magnetism,” he said, then turned on his heel. “I need Jarvis. He’ll know where the maid is now, he’s the one who writes all the letters of reference.” He marched off in the direction of the servant’s quarters.

Rogers caught his arm and pulled him back. It was a little like a terrier trying to stop a full-grown horse, but surprise made Tony stumble to a halt anyway. “What?”

Rogers grinned at him. “It’ll wait until he’s woken up,” he said. “Come on, let’s go to the kitchens and I’ll show your Grace how to brew a cup of tea.”

***

“Excuse me,” Bucky said, and slipped by Tony. The tiny records room was filled to the rafters with wooden cabinets, which were, in turn, filled with bundles of papers, each dated and tied off in packets by month.

Some of the papers were so old, Tony could barely make out the inked letters at all, records from his father’s father’s mother’s time as Duchess. The duchy of Manhattan was not the oldest in the lands, but Tony himself was the ninth to hold the title, and it didn’t look like the method for storing official documents had changed any in that time.

His original forebear, Gregory Stark, had been little more than a pirate with a pedigree. There was nothing quite like the weight of all this paperwork to make Tony feel the burdens of his position. And an itchy nose.

A moment later, Bucky was back with two hurricane glass lamps. He stole the single candle away from Jarvis, lit the lamps, and put them on the table. “Sorry, this place is a fire hazard, not to tell you your business,” he said.

“Quite right, sir,” Jarvis approved. “I hadn’t thought it would take so long to locate the notation, but it seems someone got into the cabinets and put some things in the wrong places.”

Tony found another logbook with the appropriate dates on it and laid it on the table to flip through it. “You really save dinner party menus?” he asked incredulously.

“Of course, your Grace,” Jarvis said. “A guest might return and request a dish.”

“I can personally never decide if I should request a thing that I know I liked,” Bucky mused, “or continue to enjoy all the new things. Our old cook, back in Brooklyn, she made the same roast every other week, broth soups, jellies and rissoles, all the time. If I have to look at another black pudding, I swear…” He got back to work, sifting through his packet. There was a smudge of ink on his cheek. It was adorable, and Tony suppressed the urge to do something about it immediately.

“I shall drop a word in Cook’s ear,” Jarvis murmured, turning pages.

Tony turned his attention back to the book in front of him.

“Ah, here,” Jarvis said after an interminable while. “The arrangements for the funeral, so it must be shortly after this.” He turned several more pages. “Here, I believe I’ve found it, your Grace.”

Jarvis untied the bundle and removed the letter entirely. “It seems that Mrs. Parker was given full marks for service, and is now in the employ of the Countess of Brighton, or was. Lady Brighton would, perhaps, be able to tell you more, should she have left that station.” Jarvis tapped his chin thoughtfully for a moment. “Brighton manor is quite chilly this time of year and they have a daughter of marriageable age. The family is probably removed to the capital for the Season. If you don’t wish to wait on information by mail, I can send ahead, and have your Grace’s town home opened?”

“I think that would be best,” Tony agreed. “I’d like to get to the bottom of this before the wedding, if possible.”

“Town home, small summer home, your ducal seat,” Bucky was ticking them off on his fingers. “How does your Grace manage to live in multiple houses at the same time?”

“I don’t,” Tony snarked back. “I live in them sequentially.”

Bucky deflated suddenly, sitting back in his chair. “You’re going to have to leave me behind,” he said.

That... was true. The lax attitude they’d taken about chaperonage since Tony had signed the marriage papers would definitely not fly while under the glass of Town gossip, and there was no way Tony could bring his betrothed to his town home unless he also brought Mrs. Barnes. Which would mean _also_ bringing Becca, as she certainly could not be left on her own. Especially with Mr. Rogers still in residence.

Even Tony’s grandest carriage wouldn’t hold all of them, and they’d need at least one more for the servants and luggage -- probably two. Which was a much larger production than Tony wanted to make of the trip, especially since he didn’t intend to finish out the winter there.

He pulled a face. “So it seems,” he admitted. “But it should only be for a week or two. Three at the outside. I’ll be back before the daffodils bloom.”

“You better,” Bucky said. “M’ birthday’s in March. Kinda thought it’d be nice to… spend it together.” His eyelashes fluttered before he dropped his gaze again, staring down at the scarred and ink-stained table. “I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll make every effort to return in time for your birthday,” Tony promised. He squeezed Bucky’s shoulder, and would have leaned in to kiss that ink-smudged cheek, except that Jarvis coughed rather expectantly, recalling him to their audience. “I’ll miss you too,” he finished, somewhat lamely.

“I’ll make the arrangements, your Grace,” Jarvis told him. “Weather permitting, you can start off as early as tomorrow.”

***

Bucky waited until the carriage was being brought around, and then he couldn’t wait any longer. He was fairly certain most of the household -- including his mother, which was horrifically embarrassing, so he tried not to think about it too much -- knew that Tony sometimes visited him at night. But they were still supposed to maintain the fiction that Bucky was untouched.

But the ladies were still at breakfast and Tony was getting ready to leave, and--

He grabbed Tony’s wrist and lightly tugged him into the red parlor, which had become Bucky’s social room. “Tony, I--” He gazed into those lovely, expressive eyes. Tiberius had told him that Tony was frequently away, that Bucky would get used to his absence.

It was a lie. Bucky was _never_ going to get used to it.

“I said goodbye to you once before, and it broke my heart,” Bucky told him. “I swear, if you do it a third time, I may not survive.”

“Once we’re married, you won’t ever leave my side,” Tony promised. He kissed Bucky’s cheek, then dropped another light kiss on Bucky’s lips. “At least this time is only temporary.”

“Here.” He pressed a packet of papers into Tony’s hand. “I wrote you some letters, I know there’s almost no point to sending them, you’d pass most of them on the road. So, if you miss me, you can read them. Be safe. And hurry back to me.”

He cupped Tony’s jaw and brought him in for another kiss, chaste and sweet. He couldn’t bear to deepen it any; he would break down like a child if he tasted the inside of Tony’s mouth. Or do something else reckless, he wasn’t sure.

Tony chased after the kiss when Bucky drew away, nevertheless, and it was a thrill to know Tony wanted it as much as Bucky did. He sighed and tucked the letters into his breast pocket. “I’ll have them memorized before I reach the first stop, I’m sure,” he said ruefully. “They’ll be a comfort. Thank you.” He darted in for yet another kiss. “Pick out another book for us to read together, when I’m back, hm?”

“You should go, before I embarrass you by crying,” Bucky told him. He was going to cry, regardless, but Tony didn’t need to watch him do it. He squeezed Tony’s fingers, brought them to his mouth and kissed each fingertip. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Tony said. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He took a step back, his hand lingering in Bucky’s. Another step. And another, finally pulling their hands apart. He paused at the door to the hall, gave Bucky a small smile and blew a kiss, and then was gone.

The door was barely closed before Bucky was up and running to the overlook balcony. From there, he could watch the carriage all the way to the turn onto the lane, and, perhaps, if Tony looked back, he would see Bucky standing guard.

Bucky watched as the carriage rolled away, and he waved once. Tony, from the carriage, turned around and watched the house, until they were both out of sight.

***

_Dearest Tony,_

_Have you even passed the gate before opening this letter? I imagine you now, looking around the carriage as if to protest, and wish that I was there to see you smiling. I should never accuse you of neglect, but if you would like to remain in good charity in my thoughts, you had best write me, at least once, during your absence. Surely, even such a busy man as the Duke of Manhattan can take a few minutes to pen a missive, and as Jarvis will remain here with us, I’ll have none of his stuffy drafts._

_I am quite confident in the degree of your affection for me, and thus I would not want you to give up any manner of pleasant things in town just to sit down and put pen to paper for my entertainment._

_Steve tells me I can get quite sarcastic when I’m in a mood, thus you see the evidence before you. If the matter was not so pressing, I would beg you put it off until after the wedding, so we could travel together._

_The capital, I understand, is quite unpleasant during the summer months, so perhaps next autumn we can travel there together while you take up your duties in Parliament. You shall, indeed, have to explain them to me. My tutor was quite unable to make the processes of our government comprehensible._

_Becca, who has been hovering ‘round me these last minutes, bids me to remember her to you, as if you could possibly forget her before getting free of the lane, no matter how much you might wish it._

_I will write more after I attend her for her morning walk. You shan’t have an inch of acreage that has not known the feel of her boot by the time we’ve been here another fortnight, so delighted is she by the grounds._

_As you know, I am your most devoted_

_Bucky_

***

_My darling Bucky,_

_I write this from my first stop, and so it should reach your hand before I have even reached the capital. Thus is your requirement met, and I am discharged of further obligation._

_Which can only mean that each word I write from this moment is entirely of my own desire, and not borne of the necessity of retaining your goodwill._

_Of what shall I write? The carriage ride was tedium itself, the road long-since known to me, so there were not even any surprises to be found in the landscape. I have no doubt that your sister would have exclaimed over every stone and bush; that would at least have provided some conversation._

_Shall I tell you how much I wish you were joining me for this trip? I certainly shall engage to take you on every trip once we are wed. I depend too much on your good nature to keep me from becoming dour._

_Though I fear not even your bright smile will keep me from grumbling when I must attend Parliament. It is certainly not among my more fondly-held duties. Still, I will endeavor to show you whatever enjoyment you may take from being in town during the Season. I know you enjoy dancing and musicales, but you shall have to educate me as to your position on such topics as theater, opera, the ballet, and other such entertainments._

_Already, I miss you dreadfully. Does it surprise you to know that I have read only the first of your letters? The rest tempt me terribly, but I am saving them, to savor the anticipation and enjoyment. (Certain of my past colleagues should be shocked by such a revelation; I have not much prior acquaintance with restraint.)_

_I have with me my favorite sketch of you by Mr. Rogers, and I shall meditate upon it before I sleep each night. I hope that you will likewise think of me often._

_I remain your most obedient servant,_

_Tony_


	20. A Share of His Grace's Company

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tony deals with his companion (and his companion’s debts) and everything depends on the judgement of a dog, and the memory of a maid. And Mr. Woobie is mauled to everyone’s satisfaction.

Number three Charles Street had been the Stark’s townhome since the late sixteen hundreds. The building had been refitted twice, but there was still an air of the old-fashioned to it. But it was well-insulated, with modern plumbing and furnishings, contained bedrooms, a dining hall, a parlor and a draftsman room that Tony had, unfortunately, been neglecting these last few years since taking over as Duke. There was a small staff, someone to take his hat and coat, and someone to prepare dinner.

Really, what more could one want from a house?

Besides one’s betrothed, of course. Tony looked around his bedroom and thought it seemed... quiet.

Well. The sooner he dealt with his business, the sooner he could return to Inwood. He sat at the narrow desk and found a sheet of notepaper and a pen. He jotted a note to Countess Brighton asking for the grace of an interview, and asked his valet to have it delivered as immediately as possible.

He then looked at the stack of mail that had arrived in the few days since he’d sent word to have the house made ready. News traveled fast.

At least it would give him something with which to occupy his time. He was just sorting the pile into “social invitations to decline” and “business propositions to consider” when the door opened and Ty strolled in.

He was dressed smartly, in jewel tones that bought out his peaches and cream complexion, and his hair had been recently barbered, layered perfectly to draw attention to his chiseled jaw. “Hello, lovie,” he said, draping himself over Tony’s desk. “Bored already? I thought you’d at least last the winter. Season can be so dreadfully unpleasant, but sometimes the fishing’s good sport. Miss me?”

Tony sat back in his chair. “Tiberius. What are you doing here?”

“Getting my share of your Grace’s dazzling company, what else?” Ty gave him a particularly heated look that had, in years prior, made Tony wish for a soft bed and a hard cock. Ty wet his lips and smiled. “Come now, Tony, you never played coy before.”

“I thought it was made plain already,” Tony said. “I’m going to be married soon, Ty. We’re done.”

“I suppose fidelity is to be admired,” Ty said, “but I didn’t think you were the type to get attached to one person. You know, I don’t mind sharing. He’s a pretty little nugget, to be certain, but do you really think he’s worth closing all your doors? You know what they say about a lover scorned.”

“I didn’t think I was, either, but it seems we were both wrong on that score. I don’t think there’s much danger from any of my previous lovers, unless you were threatening me. If you are, be plain about it.”

“There’s no need to worry,” Ty said, brushing his hand over Tony’s lightly. “I’m very fond of you, lovie. I wouldn’t go so far as to say I’m heartbroken, but it might be something in that general vicinity. And all the lovely perks which went along with satisfying your Grace’s appetites.”

“I suspect that’s what’s really paining you,” Tony said drily. “Are you here to look for a settlement, is that it?”

“I had been accustomed to guesting with you,” Ty admitted, “and making myself available, I have lost some other, comfortable lodgings. A farewell gift would not go wanting. I was _very_ good for you, wasn’t I?”

“If you’re hoping for a letter of reference,” Tony said, “I don’t think that’s really the done thing. You amused well enough, I suppose. How much do you want?”

“If I have to maintain my own household, and the lifestyle I’m accustomed, an account with a draw of fifty pounds per annum would seem reasonable. For a few years, until I can cultivate a new patron. I’m not getting any younger,” Ty said. “It makes it all seem so very very tawdy, my darling, but what else am I to do with myself? I can hardly be trusted to tutor young lords.”

Tony snorted. “For you to live in idleness, fifty seems extreme. I’ll give you thirty-five for three years.”

“And relieve my current distress with the tailors, and I shall consider myself well rewarded. I have a whole new wardrobe that was meant for your delight. It’s quite burdensome,” Ty said, “when one’s creditors are always at the door.”

Tony rubbed at his temple. “Dare I ask how deep this distress is?”

“Not quite as distressful as the fifteen pounds a year you’ll be saving for my upkeep,” Ty told him. “You’re coming out ahead, lovie. Take the deal and I’ll let you alone to your darling boy. Tell me, does he allow you to call him Jaime, or is that _too forward_?”

“I haven’t tried,” Tony said. Ty wasn’t part of his relationship with Bucky, and never would be. “If that’s what you called him, it’s no wonder he was in a state.”

“I’ll leave my direction, shall I?” Ty gave Tony a long, lingering stare. “It’s a shame, really. Seldom in my business do we find a patron that we can also consider a friend. I’m quite fond, truly. Well, my thirty-five will keep me quite warm for a time, and, should you find yourself lacking, I’ll give you a discount.” He paused. “Unless you’d like a tumble, for old time’s sake.”

“I think not.” Tony turned pointedly back to his correspondence.

Ty stretched leisurely. “I bid you farewell, your Grace.” And he gathered up his hat and gloves, heading out without waiting for a response.

***

The Countess finally invited Tony to pay a call, somewhat after morning visiting hours were over. After lunch, before tea, when she could fail to provide refreshments and yet give no particular insult. Not entirely unheard of, although Tony couldn’t recall if he’d offended her. Perhaps it had been something Howard had done; Tony was still from time to time wiping spots off his reputation that he hadn’t earned.

He made certain to dress well for the visit, and that he had the copy of the maid’s letter of recommendation tucked securely in his pocket, and knocked on the Countess’ door at precisely the appointed hour.

“Your Grace,” the butler greeted him even before Tony presented his calling card. “If you should care to follow me to the winter parlor, I will see if Lady Brighton is available for you.”

The winter parlor had the appearance of what might happen if someone loaded Christmas into a cannon and it exploded. There were dainty little china angels everywhere, and aging greenery draped along the mantle. The wallpaper was a pattern of naked cherubs and poinsettias. Tony wasn’t sure if he should be offended, horrified, or amused.

The Countess kept him waiting for almost twenty minutes before she made her appearance, a yappie little scottish terrier following in her wake, complete with tartan bow around his throat. “Your Grace, you honor my home.”

Tony bowed over her hand. “Lady Brighton, it is you who honor me with your time.” He made tedious small talk for a while, trying to sweeten her mood.

In the end it was the dog that sealed the deal; after sniffing curiously at Tony’s boots for some time, the creature trotted over to one corner and came back a moment later with a ragged toy, giving it to Tony and then sitting down, patting its feet against the floor and looking expectant.

“Oh, McGregor likes you,” the Countess said, clapping her hands. “He’s a wonderful judge of character. He’ll play tug-of-war if you hold on to one end of Mr. Woobie.”

“Will he, indeed?” Tony managed something like a smile. The dog still looked quite expectant, so Tony gingerly picked up the toy and offered the other end to McGregor. The dog bit down fiercely and braced its little legs, tugging for all it was worth against Tony’s grip on the wretched toy.

He glanced at Lady Brighton, who looked entirely delighted and gestured at him to keep going, so he played with the dog for another moment or two, finally letting it “win” its toy back. “Charming,” he offered.

“Yes, he is,” she agreed, talking in that high pitched voice that people sometimes reserved for pets, children, and the very, very slow adult. “He’s just the best boy, isn’t he?” She fussed over the dog, who eventually retreated with his toy, gnawing on it with relish. Tony absently wondered how many Mr. Woobies the dog went through in a year’s time. “Having only been formally introduced at your Grace’s coming out, and it being many years since then, perhaps it’s presumptuous, but was there something in particular you wished to discuss?”

“I’m afraid so,” Tony said. “I’ve discovered that a rather unscrupulous character has plans to cast certain aspersions on my dear mother’s character. As she can no longer defend herself against these lies, we thought to look for help from her loyal ladies’ maid, whom our records indicate was employed here shortly after Mother’s unfortunate passing. A Mrs. Parker, I believe? Do you think it would be possible for me to speak briefly with her?”

“How dreadful,” the countess said. “Maria was a dear friend, quite active with our hospital charity back in her heyday. Of course, your Grace, allow me to summon her.” The countess rang the bell for the housekeeper and was given instructions to bring Parker, as well as a tray. “Are you for tea, your Grace, or do you prefer coffee? The Earl’s time abroad gave him a taste for it.”

“It’s quite the potent beverage, but I have no wish to put you out at all. I’ll enjoy a cup of whatever you’re having.”

“Coffee, then,” she said, “and do be about it.”

They made more small talk; Tony was quite exhausting his store of it. He wondered if a royal decree could make people converse about interesting things, and if it would, might that be something the queen would consider?

Finally, coffee arrived, and not long after, the ladies’ maid. “Oh, Anthony!” she said, rather surprised, then clapped a hand over her mouth. “Forgive me, your Grace, just… I knew you as a boy, I don’t know if you recall?”

“Of course I do,” Tony assured her. “I’m glad to see you’ve settled well. I have some questions of rather a delicate nature to ask. I hope you won’t mind perhaps betraying a confidence or two of my mother’s, now that she is beyond embarrassment.”

The Countess poured coffee, her hands delicate on the pot, and put an assortment of biscuits and pastries on Tony’s tray before delivering it. The coffee was thick, dark, the sort often served in Turkey, he believed, with a delicate crema on the top of the cup.

“Of course, if I can be of some service,” Mrs. Parker said. “Your lady mother was very dear to me. I wore an arm band for months in her memory.”

“Thank you for that,” Tony said. He sipped at the coffee, savoring its strong, bitter flavor. “A certain someone whose name I prefer not to say seems to have laid hands on documents which, he says, cast my heritage into doubt.” His mouth twisted. “For myself, I care little -- but the scandal would cause great harm to the house, not to mention besmirching my mother’s memory. I have some small hope that you might remember a detail or two which could put such rumors to rest.”

“Well, of course you are the Duke’s son,” Mrs. Parker said. “Anyone who ever saw the two of you together would say as much. What a ridiculous idea. Who would even think of such a notion? What… how did someone come by that rumor?”

“Supposedly -- and I have not seen proof with my own eyes, mind -- there are letters which suggest certain indiscretions near the time of my conception.”

“Oh,” Mrs. Parker said. “You were born… 1791, yes? Yes, I recall. To be fair, your mother wed quite young, and being of Italian birth, her English was not very good when she arrived. A marriage of alliance between your family and the Carbonells. She was not happy, when she first came to be mistress of the estate. Nor was your father much tranquil with the situation as it was. They did not, perhaps, have much affection between them for some time. There were… indiscretions on both sides.”

Tony rocked back a little. “Is there any chance the rumor is _true_?”

Mrs. Parker chuckled. “No, not even remotely. I’m afraid to admit, I know exactly when you were conceived. I was more than a little put out at the time, but it was a turning point for them, and peace between them made for a much more comfortable home life. For everyone, including the staff. Your father had gone on a business trip to France; he was away for several weeks. And your grandmama fell ill. She summoned Maria to her, in Italy, to attend her. On the return journey home, the road took us through Lyon, where your father surprised his bride with an afternoon’s visit. Your mother abandoned the carriage and went on horseback with him, leaving me to make all the arrangements, and I am ashamed to admit, my French is not now, nor has ever been, tolerable. By the time we made the duchy again, your mother was casting up her accounts regularly.”

“And there can be no doubt?”

“Not a doubt,” Mrs. Parker confirmed. “Forgive me of speaking of something so personal, but your mother was… experiencing her courses when we left the duchy; she complained quite a lot and at every stop I had to get a hot water bottle to ease her discomfort. She was certainly not with child when we left.”

Tony sat back in the chair with a sigh. “That is a relief,” he said. “I hope to resolve this matter without resorting to courts or formal investigations, but if it comes to that, I may be forced to call upon you to testify.”

“I would be willing to do so, and surely there are ledgers, even in French inns, although I do not know how far back they would go. Your mother was not, I fear, entirely without reproach, but both she and your father were much more fond, once news of your arrival was impending. I believe the old Duke did come to love her, very much, in the end.”

Tony smiled a little. “That’s certainly a comfort; thank you.” He would have to have Jarvis plumb the records room for evidence of the trips. Hopefully the older records, less disturbed, would be in better order. “I’ll allow you to return to your duties now. Thank you for your time, Mrs. Parker.”

“Yes, of course, your Grace,” she said, standing again and bobbing a quick curtsey. “Glad to have eased your mind about such dreadful slander.”

Tony was certain to thank the Countess effusively for her forbearance before he left, but he headed back to the house at a nearly giddy pace. He could be back at Inwood and in Bucky’s arms before another week was out.


	21. The Reward for Hard Work (is More Work)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tony attempts to repair the damage to more than just his reputation and Bucky gets his first taste of ducal responsibility. In which Rhodey looks out for Tony, even when Tony would rather he not. And in which plots are afoot and traps are set.

Organizing a spring hunt across the entire duchy was an exercise in herding cats, Bucky decided. He started understanding why Tony was often leaving correspondence to Jarvis; there were innumerable huntsmasters that Bucky had to contact across the vast holdings, outlining which fields and groves they were allowed to hunt, and staggering the times and dates, so one group would not interfere with -- or endanger -- any other groups.

A spring hunt was not the usual, but with all hunting having been curtailed across the duke’s woods for several years, the deer population was quite beyond the normal, and even the relatively lean meat from spring deer would be a benefit. Not to mention culling the herds.

Bucky had been poring over the map for several hours, double-checking the schedule.

The hunt would start the next day and range for a period of four days. All the towns had been notified; no one without huntsman business should be in the trees during those days. Coupled with the announcement of a tax reduction for the upcoming annum, the mood across the duchy was one of celebration.

Tony, as well as a small hunting party, would travel with the groups, allowing him to both personally oversee the hunt, and to speak with village magistrates, giving the personal touch to the event.

Bucky was going to be one of the party; there were enough others who were joining them, including the Duke’s oldest friend, Colonel Rhodes, that Bucky would be well chaperoned.

Helping with the hunt was Bucky’s first foray into the realm of peer responsibility, a mere taste of the duties that he would be expected to fulfill after his marriage.

Bucky rubbed his eyes, leaned back in the chair. The room was lit only by lamp and the fire; the sun had long ago set. A plate of cold meat and fruits was untouched at his elbow; he vaguely remembered Jarvis bringing him a dinner tray, rather than joining the family to eat. He stretched and wondered just how long he’d been here. The tea was stone cold, but he drank it anyway, and the first bite of ham turned into a rapid consumption of everything on the plate.

“You’re up late,” Tony said. He was leaning in the doorway. “You’ll want sleep; the next days will be strenuous.”

“Just want to make certain this is as safe as possible,” Bucky said, licking the last traces of orange off his fingers. “The number of guns loose on your lands in the next few days would make any sane man’s blood run cold.”

“That’s how hunts are,” Tony said. He came in and brushed his fingers through Bucky’s hair, massaging the nape of his neck. “It will be fine.”

Personally, Bucky was certain that Tony had announced the tax break at the same time to be assured that no one would try to aim for bigger game while they were thinning the herds. “I’m sure,” Bucky said. “But this is the first time I’ve been in charge of a thing. Want you to be pleased with my efforts.” He drank the last gulp of tea and shuddered at the aftertaste. “Is Becca still sulking?” His sister was a crack shot and had wanted to join the hunt, but given her age and the number of participants, it had been decided that she would have to wait for some of the small, ducal hunts, later in the season. Bucky wouldn’t put it past her to dress in breeches and try to sneak out anyway.

“Probably. She’ll get over it. I’ve asked her and your mother to plan a dinner for the huntmasters, when it’s over. That will keep her busy.”

“Putting all the members of my household to work, are you, your Grace?” Bucky joked, pushing the chair all the way back and spreading his thighs a little, inviting Tony to join him. “And shall you reward me, for my hard work?”

Tony came closer, accepting Bucky’s invitation, and leaning in to brush his lips over Bucky’s. “Come to bed, and we’ll see what I can come up with that you’ll find... motivating.”

Bucky wrapped one hand around the back of Tony’s neck and pulled him down, refusing to accept a sweet peck as _motivation_ to get out of the chair. He was getting bolder, taking more initiative. He probed at Tony’s mouth with a questing tongue, and when Tony opened up for him, licked thoroughly into the kiss until Tony was breathless. He finally drew back, and then accepted a hand up. His legs were stiff, his back ached, and his eyes were grainy with the poor light and long hours, but other parts were perking up.

“Be on your mettle, your Grace,” Bucky told him, teasing. He ran a hand down Tony’s back and ended with a cup of that perfect rump, nudging him toward the bedrooms. He’d still avoided the ducal bed out of some sort of disguise for propriety, taking Tony into his own suite. The Duke’s bed was for the wedding night. “I intend to wring the most from your reward.”

It was undoubtedly an idle boast; Bucky was exhausted, and if they needed to get rest, Tony would probably not keep them both up until the wee hours with experiments from Tony’s little naughty book. But maybe one… or two… pages wouldn’t go amiss.

***

By the second day of the hunt, Tony was already bored with it. He didn’t much care for the killing, and the only thrill he got was that of the chase. There was a reason his hunting lodges remained so seldom used. There wasn’t even much excitement to be found in finding their prey; the deer were so overpopulated that the party found them practically around every turn.

And he couldn’t maneuver his way into spending any time alone with Bucky, either; Rhodey took his duties as chaperone very seriously, damn him, no matter how much Tony pointed out that they were already _engaged_ , with the wedding to follow in only a month, and what harm could it do if Tony stole a kiss or two?

“It’s not about harm to the boy, Tones, and you know it,” Rhodey said firmly when he took Tony aside at luncheon for a scolding. “It’s about his reputation. And yours.”

Tony pouted at that, but Rhodey was immovable. Even if he did have a point. The sharpest of Hammer’s teeth had been blunted by Mrs. Parker’s testimony, but if Hammer decided to release those letters, it would still put Tony at the center of a whirlwind of gossip. There were plenty of older, more traditional business owners who would refuse to do business with Tony if there were even a hint of scandal connected with his name. In preparation for that, Tony had to have a spotless reputation -- as did his spouse.

“Tell you what,” Rhodey said, “I’ll take him back to the second group this afternoon, so you won’t be tempted.

“That’s hardly necessary.”

“The second group has most of the spouses,” Rhodey pointed out relentlessly. “He should start making contacts with them anyway.”

“Fine,” Tony huffed.

“I’m doing this for your own good, you know.”

“I know, sugarbear. I don’t have to like it, though.”

Tony needed to spend some time cozying up to Lord Everett Ross anyhow; the man was an avid and outspoken proponent of trains and would surely be on board to invest in Tony’s new factories if he could be convinced of Tony’s sincerity.

Unfortunately, he was also a terrible bore. By midafternoon, Tony was ready to fall off his horse so he could fake an injury to get out of the rest of the day’s hunting.

“I’m just going to stretch Dummy’s legs,” Tony excused himself, breaking into Ross’ monologue about different types of engines. “Ex-racehorse, you know; he gets fretful if I don’t let him run from time to time.”

He didn’t wait for Ross’ approval, which was probably rude of him, but less rude than telling the man where to stick his steam turbine engines, so Tony was counting it as a win. He laid low over Dummy’s back and kicked the horse into motion.

God, but it felt good to run. Even on a narrow track through the woods, where he couldn’t go at full speed, the wind on his face was a blessing, the warm spring sun breaking through the trees to dapple everything in gold and new green.

The report of a shot echoing through the woods was hardly a surprise.

The sudden explosion of pain that knocked Tony out of his saddle, however, was. Tony scrabbled at his hunting jacket, peeling the layers away, and saw the blood blooming across his chest. He had only enough time to be alarmed, and then everything was dark.

***

Bucky stood up in the stirrups and counted the group behind him. He didn’t have any official position with the hunt, and despite being the Duke’s betrothed, had no real rank. But the huntsman hadn’t done a head count before they’d broken for luncheon and with the changes in group configuration, Bucky was concerned. The last thing Tony needed in his quest to restore the commoners’ good will was someone to get hurt on the hunt.

He counted, then counted again.

“Where’d Lord Raza get off to?” he muttered. He hadn’t liked the man particularly much, a poor rider with a heavy hand on his mount.

“Horse went lame,” one of the wives said. She gestured back with her crop toward the hunting lodge. “He’s walking it back.”

Bucky grumbled. The man would end up alone at the lodge with nothing to do all afternoon, despite it being his own fault for taking poor care of his animal. Or perhaps not; the ground was quite muddy and maybe the beast just got a bad step. Bucky should be more charitable. It seemed poor hospitality, however, to leave a guest to entertain themselves all afternoon. Raza was married, Bucky’s reputation would be safe enough.

And Bucky was finding the hunt tedious. He preferred more clever game. This was barely a challenge, and the lords and ladies of the hunting party were constantly bickering about whose kill a particular animal was, and who was firing out of turn. Most of the lesser cuts of venison would be donated to the village, and there were enough on the wagon for everyone who wanted a taxidermied head on their wall to have one. It was ridiculous.

“I’ll go find him,” Bucky told the huntmaster. “Give him a ride back to the lodge and summon the stable master to treat his mount. Let the rest know that we’re headed back along the main road, and not to shoot us.”

That shouldn’t be an issue, the hunt was proceeding north-westerly, and he shouldn’t come across them at all.

“Let the Duke know,” Bucky told Colonel Rhodes, “and I shall see his Grace at supper.”

He turned his mount and headed back along the game trail toward the main road.

When Bucky hadn’t caught up to Lord Raza in near twenty minutes, he became concerned. Had he gotten lost? Bucky wasn’t sure how it was possible to get lost; the game trails were clearly marked, and only very poor weather would take one off the path.

He checked the track. It’d been quite a while since he’d done any real tracking, but he could at least keep watch to see if Raza had wandered off the path at any point.

A tangle of horse tail in a thicket just off the main path caught his attention, and upon closer inspection, it seemed someone had ridden off the path and then covered their tracks poorly. He blinked. Why would anyone do such a thing? He inspected the new set of prints, headed in a wide circle around the hunting party; whoever it was was pushing their mount, and--

A scrap of material, a few threads, against a tree branch caught his eye.

It was the same deep green as Raza’s hunter jacket -- an odd choice for woodland work, letting the man blend in, which, with so many live guns in the woods, was dangerous.

Unless…

Bucky got back on his horse, seriously concerned. The trail wasn’t too hard to follow; once away from the main path, they’d obviously been more interested in speed than concealment.

Still, he had to keep dismounting and checking the path. When they crossed the creek, Bucky had to rub down his horse’s shivering legs before proceeding. While he was doing that, a stray shot echoed through the woods.

It shouldn’t have concerned him, hunters had been wasting bullets shooting at imaginary deer, a few adventurous foxes, and once someone’s cow that had apparently wandered far afield. But somehow, following an unknown person (probably Raza) through the woods, it did.

Bucky remounted and nudged his mount in the direction of the shot.

He’d gone no more than another mile when a brilliant flash of coat caught his eye; not Raza, then, as the coat was pale blue. Bucky squinted, drew his scope from his pocket. A gift from Tony, he’d made some use of it during the trip to look for trail markers.

That was Sir Stane! What was he doing out here?

Tony had been close-mouthed around Stane while trying to make ducal changes.

Bucky dismounted, tied his horse off loosely around a tree branch, and crept closer.

Stane was mounted, just standing around, waiting. It was a strange place for a rendezvous.

Bucky slipped into a thicket, watching. What the hell was going on?

A moment later, Raza pulled into the small copse of trees. His horse was sweaty and foaming and his rifle was balanced across the saddle’s bow.

Bucky crouched low in the bushes. What would Lord Raza want with Stane?

“It’s done,” Raza said. “I wish to renegotiate.”

“Greed always was your Achilles heel,” Stane responded.

“You give me trinkets to murder the duke? I must relocate, to be safe, and that costs. You would do well to meet my demands, or there are many authorities who would be interested in knowing who ordered Stark’s murder.”

Bucky went ice cold. His breath froze in his lungs. His heart stopped beating.

He lived, but in that moment, he died.

Everything that was important in his life was gone. How… how could he go on?

There was only one thing left to do. Bucky had a rifle over his back. He drew it, slow and careful.

“You mistake the matter,” Stane said, and there was a small pistol in Stane’s hand, pointed directly at Raza’s heart. “And you rate your own life higher than I do. All I have to tell is the truth. You killed the Duke, and I killed you. Case closed, I’m a hero. I inherit. It’s a lovely little plan, don’t you think?”

There was nothing for Raza to do, he couldn’t possibly bring his rifle around in time, even if it was still loaded. Stane would kill the man.

Bucky narrowed his aim; from the murdering Raza, to the hand that directed the shot.

Everything happened very fast.

Stane’s finger tightened on the trigger and Bucky fired.

The pistol exploded in Stane’s hand. Both horses reared and plunged.

Bucky was out of his hiding place in an instant, the stock of his rifle swinging wildly. He clipped Raza in the face and the man went down in the leaves.

Stane’s mount wheeled and screamed, blood from Stane’s arm, face, chest dripping down the gelding’s shoulder. Stane let the reins loose and the gelding bolted into the woods, carrying its near unconscious rider away.

“ _Fuck_.”

Bucky couldn’t hope to catch them.

He turned to the assassin. Raza was barely conscious, face already swelling. “Go on, give me a reason,” Bucky told him, stepping in the middle of the man’s back and pushing him down into the leaves and mud. He was near mad enough with grief to beat the man to death. His fingers tightened on the rifle, ready to start swinging.

He couldn’t.

 _He could not_.

If he killed Raza, there would be no one to stand against Stane’s claim. He was next for the duchy. “Fuck.” Bucky spat. “Where? Where is Tony?”

Maybe… Raza was a poor rider, a poor shot, a poor excuse for a human being. Maybe there was hope. Or, if nothing else, Bucky couldn’t leave Tony out here in the woods; so many acres, would they ever find him? He needed to be brought home and his body attended to.

Raza shook his head.

Bucky was sobbing, tears blurring his vision, and he was going to kill the man in front of him--

“ _Where is he?”_ Bucky raised his rifle.

“Clemency,” Raza spat. “I testify, against Stane, tell you where Stark is. You--”

“Tell me now and you won’t hang for it,” Bucky agreed. “Newgate will have a new resident.”

Mushmouthed, Raza gave him the direction.

Bucky hesitated. Raza’s mount hadn’t gone far. Bucky swung and Raza fell unconscious. Bucky checked, the man was still alive. It took a moment to tie the man onto his mount, but when Bucky slapped the horse’s flank, it set out at a trot. It would take the man back to the lodge -- horses always knew where the food was coming from -- and Bucky could deal with that issue later.

He ran for his own horse and followed Raza’s direction, confirming the trail with some sighting of Raza’s passage.

It wasn’t long before he found a splatter of blood, broken branches, and then-- “Oh, god.” Bucky didn’t realize he’d been holding out some desperate hope for a mistake until he saw Tony laying on the ground.

Unmoving.


	22. The Mortality of Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a great many things are bad, but Tony is recovered. In which Stane seeks to finish what he started, and in which Bucky makes some promises.

Pain. _Pain._ It was hard to breathe, a struggle to pull air in, and another struggle to push it out again. Each hard-won breath made the pain worse.

Tony wasn’t sure where he was. He couldn’t see properly; everything was fuzzy and doubled like he was drunk near to passing out, but without the dizziness.

Until he tried to sit up, and-- oh. Dizziness, check. The pain spiked and his hand slipped in mud and he fell back down. Was he drunk? He didn’t remember drinking. He didn’t remember much of anything, honestly.

His shirt was sticking to him like it was wet and that was. That was bad, though he couldn’t quite recall why. “Help,” he rasped, the word emerging from his lips as little more than a whisper. He tried to drag in more air, to lift his voice louder, but he couldn’t. It hurt too much.

Someone was whimpering nearby, a wheezing, soft sound that matched his own breaths.

“Oh god.”

There was a crunch, and then rapid footsteps. “Oh, god, Tony, _Tony_. There’s… there’s so much _blood_.”

There was a flare of silver agony in his shoulder as someone touched him, rolled him over. A warm hand came down on the side of his neck. “Please, please, please.” A heavy weight against his chest and then, “You’re alive. Tony, can you hear me at all? Tony, Tony, wake up.”

Had he gone to sleep? Tony tried to open his eyes, but they were heavy like lead, and everything hurt so much. He licked his lips. “Bu?” he managed. He lifted a hand, the side that didn’t hurt so much, groping weakly.

“You’ve been shot, Tony,” Bucky was saying, and there was a patter of warm wetness along his hand. Someone had-- Bucky had lifted Tony’s hand and was stroking it. “I can’t move you, you’re bleeding. I… I don’t know what to do…”

Tony fought for a breath. “Dummy,” he said.

“What?”

“Take Dummy,” Tony gasped. “Fastes’ horse. Get. Help.”

“I can't leave you,” Bucky wailed. “You could die!” Bucky was shaking so hard that Tony could feel it, like the inevitability of the tide. “He might come back.” He sniffled, coughed. “Stane. It was Stane. Tony…”

It should have been a surprise to know that Obie would stoop so low, but somehow it wasn’t. “Gun,” Tony coughed out. “Three shots. Someone will come.” He tried to squeeze Bucky’s hand reassuringly, but his fingers were cold and going numb, so he wasn’t sure if he was successful.

“I'll do that,” Bucky said. “You hold on, Tony. Don't you leave me now.” Bucky moved, sliding Tony's pistol from his belt. “I'm going to secure the horses. Just hang on, darling.” He pressed a kiss to Tony's forehead.

That was nice, that kiss. Better than everything else Tony was feeling at the moment, anyway, which was pained and achy and cold. “Love you,” he sighed, because that seemed important.

Tony's pistol was louder than he remembered, shattering the stillness of the woods. One. Two. Three.

And then Bucky was back at his side, very carefully shifting until Tony's head was resting in Bucky's lap. That was nice, too, after the initial burst of fresh agony. He could breathe a little easier.

“Oh God,” Bucky gasped. “There's so much blood, Tony. Oh god.”

That was bad, lots of blood was definitely bad, but Tony was feeling even more hazy and distant, and it was hard to think. He wanted to just escape from the pain, close his eyes and let the dark claim him again.

No. Bucky.

Bucky was stroking his hair and that was kind of nice, too. But there was too much blood. “Put something on it,” he suggested. “Jacket? Stop the bleeding.”

Bucky moved again and a few moments later, there was a brilliant pain, enough to punch a desperate scream from his lips as Bucky pressed his coat against the wound. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry, darling. I've got you, I'm here, honey.”

The hunting horn rang through the air with urgency. “They're coming, they're coming. You just hang on.”

Tony tried to hang on, he did, but the pain was bright and sharp and every breath out was a whimper and the darkness was closing in. He looked up into Bucky’s face, blurred and beloved. “Stay,” he murmured, but even he didn’t know if he was promising or asking.

“I'm right here,” Bucky said, but Tony couldn't see, couldn't feel… he tried to reach for Bucky but his hand closed on nothing.

***

“Get me the doctor here, right now,” Bucky demanded. The hunting party had rigged a sling and moved Tony to it without even waking him. His hand had gone slack in Bucky’s, but his breathing was steady, even audible.

“I beg your pardon, he’s with Lord Raza--”

Bucky drew Tony’s pistol and pointed it directly at the person protesting. “The duke has been shot, and Raza’s the one that shot him. Unless you wish the doctor to be treating two bullet wounds, I suggest you get out of my way.”

“Mister Barnes--” someone else said.

“Keep Raza under lock and key, station a guard in his room, and one outside. I don’t want to take a chance with him. He stays alive, or you’ll answer to me. Personally. Colonel Rhodes, get that doctor out here _now_.”

Instinctively, Bucky called on Tony’s oldest friend to maintain some sort of order, to take care of arrangements. While Rhodey was seeing to Raza’s incarceration, Bucky selected three sturdy looking men. “Set up a watch around the lodge. Obadiah Stane is not to be within fifty yards of this building. He tried to have the duke murdered, he may well try again.” Bucky whirled. “You, you, and you, bring the bed out here, Tony’s losing blood, I don’t want to have to move him any further. Build the fire, get water and bandages. Now.”

Bucky wasn’t sure if it was his tone, or the fact that he was still wielding Tony’s pistol like he intended to use it. But finally, finally, Tony was laid in the bed and the doctor was examining the wound.

“You might want to put the gun down, Mr. Barnes,” the colonel was saying. “You’re making the doctor nervous.”

“Pretty simple,” Bucky said. “Tony gets better, or he gets worse.”

“Now, come on, just…” Rhodes eased his hand down Bucky’s arm, pushing the gun toward the floor. “I know, I know you’re upset. But Tony’s tough. He’ll recover, the doctor will help him. Just… give me the gun.”

Rhodes got a hand on the pistol and with a twist, removed it from Bucky’s hand, tucking it into his own belt. Without the steady weight in Bucky’s hand, it was like his strings had been cut. He crumpled to the floor in the hunting lodge, barking out a sob.

“It’s all right, here, have a drink,” Rhodes said. He tipped a mouthful of something that tasted like furniture polish and honey into Bucky’s mouth, that made him splutter. “Come on. That’s it. Tony will be all right. You’re gonna be all right.”

Rhodes coaxed him out of the lodge for a breather, to get the story, and probably to keep him from strangling the doctor with his bare hands when Tony started screaming.

“This is good,” Rhodes told him. “He’s strong enough to scream. The doctor’s taking the bullet out, it has to come out. Hurts just as much coming out as it did going in. Maybe more. Going in, it takes less time. Complete shock. One minute you’re fine, the next minute, you’re on fire.”

Bucky made a harsh, sobbing sound, like a laugh. Except that it was nothing like a laugh. “Been shot before, have you, Colonel.”

“More than once,” Rhodes admitted. “It’s bad form for officers in her Majesty’s service to take a bullet, but… well, I never did things conventionally. Leading from the rear is the coward’s way.”

“Charge right in, do you?”

“Tony, too,” Rhodes said. “Don’t worry. He’ll live. By this time next week, you’ll have to sit on him to keep him in bed.”

“I know better ways to do that than sitting on him,” Bucky muttered.

“Now, man, don’t go sayin’ that,” Rhodes complained. “I’m s’posed to look after your reputation. You’re makin’ me look bad, here.”

A few minutes later, the doctor came out, carrying a small dish that had a blood splatter on it. “Souvenir,” he told Colonel Rhodes. “Also, evidence. This is no hunting slug.”

Rhodes made a face and pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket, wrapping the twisted piece of lead in it. “I’ll see that this stays safe.”

Bucky was up in an instant. “He’s all right? Can I--?”

“He may not wake for a while, or he may rouse soon. He will inevitably get some infection, a fever. If there’s red lines around the wound, you must send for me immediately. Otherwise, change the bandages, treat for pain, and do not move him for at least a week. I was very careful, and the bullet did not strike any organs. There are some stitches, but I did not need to cauterize. The wound will scar. But it is better than the alternative.”

“I don’t care how many scars he has,” Bucky said. “Excuse me, I--”

He didn’t bother to finish the sentence, just went back inside and straight to Tony’s side. Tony did not look good, pale and waxy, with sweat on his forehead and throat, his hair a tangled mess. His chest was bare, except for the thick, snowy bandages. But he was breathing, and he was the most beautiful thing Bucky had ever seen. Bucky picked up his hand again, and squeezed Tony’s fingers.

Tony’s hand twitched in his, and then squeezed back, weakly. Tony’s eyelids fluttered and then opened. “Bucky?” His voice was weak and hoarse and sounded like the most perfect music. “Where?”

“I’m here,” Bucky said. “We’re at the lodge. Don’t you worry, honey, the doctor says you’re going to be just fine. It’s all right. I’m taking care of everything.”

Tony’s hand lifted enough to touch Bucky’s face, then fell back to his side limply. “Knew I could count on you.” He took a breath, coughed, and winced. “Someone shot me.”

“Yes, I believe I’d noticed that,” Bucky managed. “Stane… hired Lord Raza to kill you. He thinks he’s going to be the Duke. I… Stane escaped. We’ve got Raza under guard.”

“We’ll find Stane,” Tony said. “He won’t go far. Will Raza talk?”

“He wants clemency,” Bucky said. “I’m willing to discard the bullets to get to the man who pulled the trigger. Raza… he hurt you, I can’t forgive him. But… I think Stane is a lot more dangerous.”

Tony nodded. “I think you’re right. Tell the huntmasters to alert the constables, and...” He winced again. “You’ve already done it, haven’t you?”

“As much as I can,” Bucky said. “Rhodes has done the rest. Don’t worry, Tony. Your only duty right now it to get well. Shhhh. Don’t worry. It’s all right.” He blinked rapidly, trying to keep his eyes clear. He’d come so close, so close to losing Tony forever. All he could do now was hold on tight and be right there. Where Tony needed him to be.

Tony’s hand tightened on his, even as Tony’s eyes drifted shut again. “Stay,” he whispered.

“Always,” Bucky promised. “Right here, my love. I’m right here.”

***

The wound pained him. Tony woke with his teeth already clenched around a whine to find the room dark and the building quiet. Bucky, who had been sitting beside Tony’s bed when Tony fell asleep, had fallen to the floor and lay there unmoving.

It was the sound of Bucky’s fall which had woken Tony. He looked up to find Ob-- Stane, still standing behind Bucky’s chair, holding a rag that stank of ether.

Tony struggled to sit up. “Traitor!”

“History is written by the winners, Tony, my boy,” Stane said, cheerfully. “With new expansion into India, Africa, and the Americas, backed by weapons built at our forges, I’ll be remembered as a great patriot. And you, my boy, you will be utterly forgotten and unmissed.”

“How long have you been planning this?” Tony demanded. “All those years I thought you were helping me, and really, you were helping yourself. Was it you who convinced my father to put that insane marriage requirement on my inheritance? Were you ever even loyal to _him?_ ”

“You’ve been a thorn in my side since before you were born,” Stane said. He sat down in Bucky’s chair, like he was paying Tony a sickbed visit. Even patted his hand. “Tried to keep your parents apart, and that didn’t work. Managed to get some traction, sewing doubt in Howard’s head about your mother’s fidelity. Got him under my thumb a little, when Dottie fled with those letters.” He tweaked Tony’s shoulder, squeezing his thumb right under the collarbone, making the wound flair up in white hot agony. “Of course, I encouraged that too. But it was never enough, you both kept slipping right through it. You, especially. You were supposed to be on that carriage, and wouldn’t that have taken care of my problems all at once.”

“They know it was you now,” Tony threatened. “You’ll never take the seat.”

“Tony, Tony, my boy, you put all your eggs in one basket. Everyone who knows the truth is right here, or easily gotten to,” Stane said. “The fire, it’ll be such a tragedy. They’ll bury your betrothed right next to you. I’ll leave flowers, every year.”

“You bastard, at least leave Bucky out of it. He’s an innocent.”

“I don’t think so,” Stane said. “You’ve been such a bother to me, I think I want you to die knowing I’ve killed everything that you love. It’ll give me satisfaction.”

Stane raised pulled the pillow out from behind Tony, knocking him flat. It was harder to breathe, and then even harder, as Stane pushed the pillow down on his face.

Tony struggled, but the wound and the drugs had made him weak. He tried to yell, to rouse anyone who might be within hearing. He couldn’t, he _couldn’t_ die, not like this--

“If it’s satisfaction you want, Stane, I’ll give it to you.” The voice was dim against the pain and terror, and then… the weight disappeared off Tony’s face, and warm blood splattered across his chest. Tony blinked, struggled. Stane was trying to talk, blood bubbling out of his mouth, muffling his words. Four inches of Stark-mined steel protruded through Stane’s chest. Rhodey was behind Stane, holding him in place while he twitched out his life on the end of Rhodey’s saber.

“Sorry about that, Tones,” Rhodey said. “Running someone all the way through is overkill. If you haven’t hit the heart in the first three inches, you really need to pull the sword out and try again. Particularly hazardous in combat, with a body hung up on your sword, but, this really seemed like a moment to make a dramatic entrance, don’t you think?”

Tony let his head drop back onto the bed and panted for breath. “I suppose I’ll forgive it this once,” he managed. “Don’t let it happen again.” He squeezed his eyes tight, then opened them again. “Bucky?”

Rhodey kicked Stane’s body off his sword and onto the floor with a thud. He disappeared next to the bed a moment. “Out cold,” Rhodey reported. “Sleeping like a baby.”  

“Oh, thank God,” Tony sighed. “Not that I’m not grateful for the rescue, honeypot, but what are you doing in my room in the middle of the night?”

“I’ve been shot a time or two, if you recall.” Rhodey used Tony’s blanket to carefully wipe the blood free from his saber. “Hurts, especially in the middle of the night. Thought I’d come in and keep you company, let your boy get some sleep. I didn’t intend it to be quite so… literal.”

Tony huffed a laugh, and winced as the movement jarred his wound. “So much for a peaceful night’s rest,” he sighed. “You’ll need to go fetch the doctor and the constable’s man.”

“Really? Did you reopen your wound?” Rhodey sighed as if he was terribly put upon. “I swear, babysitting you is a full time job.” He squatted by Bucky’s side and after some rather ruthless shaking, managed to get Bucky upright.

“Sit here,” Rhodey told him. “Stay. Try not to fall asleep on the job next time.”

“Wha?” Bucky practically collapsed in the chair next to Tony. “Wha’ ‘appen?”

“Stane happened,” Tony said grimly. “Trying to finish the job. Are you all right, sweetheart?”

Bucky shook his head a few times as if trying to clear it. “Th’ hell’d he do t’--” Bucky’s eyes widened, and he reached for Tony with nervous hands. “Are you-- did he hurt you?”

“Tried,” Tony admitted. “Would’ve succeeded if it weren’t for Rhodey.”

“A knighthood, Tony, I keep telling you,” Rhodey contributed. He threw a sheet over Stane, and with kicks and curses, Rhodey roused the rest of the lodge, including yelling at the men who were supposed to have been standing guard, and who had, in fact, fallen asleep.

Tony reached for Bucky’s hand and held it tight. “He was going to burn down the whole lodge,” Tony said. “Couldn’t let that happen to you.”

Bucky swallowed hard, then offered Tony a tentative smile. “Gonna get someone to drag th’ local bishop out here, if they have to snatch him bald, and we’re going to get married by a _special license_. I’m damned if I’m letting you out of my sight for th’ sake of my imagined virtue.”

Tony chuckled, but he couldn’t entirely disagree. “We’ll see what we can do to hurry things along,” he promised.

“Tomorrow. We’re getting married _tomorrow_ ,” Bucky promised. He kissed Tony’s hand, then rested it against his cheek.


	23. Never to Wake up Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Our Heroes get their Rewards, a wedding takes place, and, more importantly, a wedding night takes place. And in which Bucky learns a great many more things about being the ducal spouse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for the smut-averse: Once they get to the bedroom, it's pretty much all fluffy wedding night smuts.

They did not, in fact, get married the next day.

But Rhodey agreed that Tony was definitely not up for debauching anyone, so Bucky was permitted to stay at Tony’s side while he recovered from the wound. Somehow, despite spending half his time drifting on pain medication and the other half nearly biting through his own tongue with pain, Tony managed to get through the interviews from the constable, read Raza’s confession, and dictate several letters of importance pertaining to the removal of Stane’s privileges as Tony’s de facto heir.

It was amazing how exhausting even that little bit of effort was. Tony was glad that Bucky was persuaded to wait for the planned wedding. He certainly would not have been able to fulfil his husbandly duties so immediately.

Tony’s arm was still in a sling by the time the wedding rolled around, which sent his tailor into fits of despair. Somehow, they made it work, loosening the fit of the jacket and covering the utilitarian sling with a wrap of silk that matched his wedding suit.

Bucky reached for Tony’s hand and his fingers tightened when the pastor called for any objections, but that moment passed unchallenged, and the rest of the ceremony was over quickly and smoothly, even if it was somewhat stuffy and dull and filled with cautions about how the state of marriage was to prevent lust and fornication (what sort of marriage would _that_ be, Tony wondered).

“In the name of God, and before these witnesses,” Bucky said, face barely visible behind the traditional white domino mask he wore, “I, James Barnes, take you, Anthony Stark, to be my wedded spouse, to have and to hold, from this day forward, nevermore to part. In sickness, and health, for richer, for poorer, on my honor, I so swear.”

Tony repeated his own vows, unable to look away from Bucky’s eyes, feeling every word as if it were seared into his soul. His hand didn’t shake as he slid the simple wedding band onto Bucky’s finger, but his throat closed a little, overwhelmed as he was with relief and love.

“You may kiss your husband,” the pastor intoned, somehow making it sound like a chore rather than the thing Tony had been dying to do all day.

He reached around Bucky’s head to untie the ribbons holding the mask in place, catching it as it fell away. He handed off the mask to Rhodey, standing sure and stolid at Tony’s back, as always, then turned back to cup Bucky’s face in his hands. “With all my heart, I love you,” he said, and kissed his husband.

Bucky made a delicious sound, his hand coming up to catch Tony’s wrist as if to hold him there forever. His tongue flicked out to taste Tony’s lip, and then he pulled back, blushing delightfully. “As your grace declares,” Bucky said, traditional, formal, and with a brilliant sparkle in his eyes, impish. He leaned back in, caught Tony’s mouth again, completely against form until the pastor was clearing his throat pointedly.

Tony had not thought until that moment that he could love Bucky any more. But Bucky insisted on continuing to surprise and impress him. “Minx,” Tony murmured, so quietly that even the pastor couldn’t hear it, a smile teasing at his lips. “There will be time for that later. Take my arm and let’s go.”

“Yes, husband,” Bucky said, turning to let them be introduced as spouses. “As you say.” The meekly docile manner didn’t fool Tony in the slightest. The pastor announced them, Duke Anthony Stark and the duchal consort, James Stark, with all rights and privileges thereof.  Some time in the days to come, arrangements would be made for Bucky to be Tony’s heir, until such time as an heir was adopted or appointed, but in the meanwhile, Bucky had earned his own title and lands, which would be bestowed on him after the wedding night.

Bucky linked his hand in Tony’s elbow, fingertips resting just in the crook, as they made their way down the flower-dotted aisle. They paused outside the church to greet their guests, then made their way to a single horse-drawn carriage as the wedding guests threw handfuls of rice and dried flowers at them.

The coach would take them to the wedding luncheon, and then, finally, they would retire to Inwood manor. For the wedding night.

Of course, the betrothed couple would have been assumed chaste until the wedding, but Tony thought the nearly month of celibacy had been something of a trial. Bucky, if he had an opinion on the matter, hadn’t said, but the last few days, his kisses had grown somewhat desperate and clinging. By the time Tony’s arm was healed enough to even consider some acrobatic maneuvers, it was so close to the wedding that they might as well wait.

Bucky shook out his hair, raining rice all over Tony’s lap. “Well, married, finally.”

Tony caught Bucky’s hand and raised it to his lips. “And soon I shall have my wicked way with you.” He gave Bucky a heated look, then leaned in to claim another kiss, somewhat less chaste than the ones at the church had been. “Too late to back out now.”

“Not a chance,” Bucky said. “You’re not getting away from me now.” His hand rested on Tony’s knee for a few seconds, then slid up to tease Tony’s thigh through the slick material of his trousers. “You look good enough to eat.”

“Soon,” Tony promised. “Not soon enough, but soon.”

“Hrmm,” Bucky grumbled. “Not _near_ soon enough.” He settled for another few kisses, practically pulling Tony into his lap. “I think the colonel picked this carriage so I didn’t tumble you on th’ way to the wedding party.”

Tony shook his head in mock dismay. “What happened to my blushing, shy betrothed?” he exclaimed.

Bucky kissed Tony’s chin, his jaw, his cheek, dropping a tiny kiss on the end of Tony’s nose. “He read through half of your library, and spent more than a dozen nights with you in his bed, and fell so desperately in love he cannot even imagine life without you.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Tony whispered, touched. “I’m yours, now. Forever.”

“Absolutely,” Bucky told him, “indispensable.”

***

“Th’ worst thing about a society wedding,” Bucky muttered, leaning over his husband to whisper in his ear, “is the _society_.” The wedding party was a full ten courses, each more luxurious than the last, and various members of the ton had stood up to toast the happy couple, and to display their perfect manners and their fashion. Very few of the speeches had actually much to do with the couple themselves. Some few were sincere, but most of them were overblown drama, to see who could be the most florid, most well-spoken.

It was terminally boring.

Bucky had been amusing himself by being overly solicitous to Tony, practically hand feeding him, with the excuse of Tony’s injury.

“You’ll get no argument from me,” Tony murmured back, looking at Bucky with an amused smile that probably just looked slightly besotted to most of those present. “Brave heart, it’s nearly done. You wouldn’t want to miss the cake, would you?”

“It’s a close race,” Bucky decided.

But finally, it was over. Cake eaten, champagne drunk and love sick, Bucky finally took Tony’s hand and led him upstairs. The party would carry on for some time without them, but Jarvis would tend to that; his mother and sister would entertain the guests.

There was a faint whistle as they mounted the staircase; looking back, Lord Barton and his ward, both dressed in shades of lilac that really should not have been made into clothing, gave them a sarcastic round of applause. Bucky rolled his eyes and rushed Tony up the stairs even faster.

And then they were practically falling over each other to get into the duke’s bedroom.

There was something solemn about that bed; Bucky had never gone to Tony’s room. Nor had he ever woken up in Tony’s arms. Even with all the servants (and probably Bucky’s own mother) knowing that they were conducting relations, they couldn’t be caught in the morning. Tony would cuddle with Bucky for a few hours, until he slid into sleep, the sweat from their exertions long-since cooled, and Bucky would wake up alone.

Never again.

Tony turned Bucky and started untying his cravat, setting aside the sapphire pin that Bucky had insisted on wearing, and unbuttoning his wedding suit. “This is the part where I’m supposed to reassure my bashful and virginal spouse that I’ll be gentle,” Tony said, pushing Bucky’s coat and waistcoat off his shoulders, “but I’m not sure that I will. I want you too much.”

“Maybe I’ll be gentle with you,” Bucky told him. He would get a scolding from his valet, but he just let Tony throw his clothes onto the floor, heedless of anything but stripping down, stripping them both down, as quickly as possible. He untied the sling for Tony’s arm. “You’re sure you’re healed enough?” He unwound Tony’s cravat, leaned in and kissed his jaw.

“We should probably avoid some of the more athletic possibilities,” Tony said, “but I’ll be fine.” Tony caught Bucky’s chin and drew him in to kiss his mouth, tongue teasing at the seam of his lips, even as Tony started in on the buttons of his shirt.

Shirt discarded, Bucky traced gentle fingers over the red, livid scar just under Tony’s collarbone. He touched it, reminding himself that the worst had almost happened, and then passed them by. In the last few weeks, Tony had developed a similar habit, tapping on his breastbone as if noticing that his heart was still beating.

He nudged and guided until Tony was at the edge of the bed, made him sit, and then knelt to pull Tony’s boots off. He used the boot jack to get his own pair off; Tony might be mostly healed, but yanking off Bucky’s boots would probably strain the wound. Stripped down to trousers, Bucky tumbled them both into the impossibly large bed.

“Hello, husband,” Bucky said, when they settled near the middle of the mattress, pillows and blankets scattered heedlessly.

“Hello, yourself,” Tony returned. He stroked lightly at Bucky’s face, down Bucky’s chest, eyes hungry. “Husband.” His gaze returned to Bucky’s face and he smiled, slow and wicked. “Ready for your deflowering?”

“Ready and eager,” Bucky told him. He nuzzled at Tony’s throat, and then slid down Tony’s body, mouthing wet kisses down his chest, blowing cool air over damp skin. He let the barest hint of his teeth scrape over one of Tony’s pink, perfect nipples, teasing the skin there. It always seemed like those peaks of tender flesh were made for Bucky’s mouth.

Tony arched into the touch, slipping his fingers into Bucky’s hair, making a mess of Bucky’s carefully-coiffed curls. “Good,” he sighed. “Because I want you in me, this time.”

Bucky gasped, resting his forehead against Tony’s breastbone. He went shuddery and weak at the thought, heat rushing through him like a storm. He raised his head to look up at Tony, not quite _shocked_ , but it was more than a little unexpected. “Tony? You’re…” The way Tony watched him, that little smile in place, made Bucky a little more sure. There was a shattering trust there, love, affection, desire. All the things Bucky had never expected to have with a husband.

“All right, my love,” he said. Slid the front panel of Tony’s trousers open, leaving the gap open, a perfect view. He moved down further, dropping heated kisses along Tony’s belly, teasing the deep vee of his hip.

Tony watched him, hands stroking over Bucky’s head and shoulders, wherever he could reach. His breath came out in shuddering moans, and his hips rolled with each soft touch, like Tony was already desperate for it. “Bucky, sweetheart... God, I love you.”

Bucky pulled himself back up, eager to kiss those sweet sounds right out of Tony’s mouth, like each declaration was a morsel and he could drink his fill. He kissed Tony, pressing in, tasting the silken inside of his cheek. Felt the puff of air against his cheek as Tony’s breath sped. He ran his hand down Tony’s chest and then dipped into the opening of Tony’s trousers, cupping his tool, heel of his hand rubbing gently. “Yeah?” Like Bucky didn’t already know, hadn’t felt loved, every single day since the first time they declared themselves.

Tony’s hand curled into a fist in Bucky’s hair, drawing him in for another kiss, deep and wet and eager, even as Tony lifted his hips, seeking more pressure, more of Bucky’s touch. “Yes,” he gasped. “Yes.” It made Bucky feel powerful, rendering Tony so desperate, so passionate. Knowing Tony needed it so much. “More, sweetheart.”

He pushed his hand further in, until the material was strained and tight around his wrist, fingers lightly lifting and teasing at Tony’s balls, then lower, to rub against that flat patch just beyond them, a tempting stroke of one finger. He knew from experience that place was unduly sensitive, but not _enough_. A press there, and then back even further, following the curve of Tony’s body around until the pad of his finger just brushed over the furled opening of Tony’s body. “Here, darling?”

“Oh,” Tony breathed, and he nodded quickly. “That’s it, that’s just right.” He reached down to shove at his trousers, pushing them further down his thighs, kicking at them to get them off. “Oil’s on the table.” He nodded toward it.

Tony undressed was the most beautiful thing that Bucky had ever seen, all lean compact muscle, skin dotted with silvery scars here and there. The flat planes of his stomach, the long lines of his legs, dusted with a scattering of cinnamon colored hair. “Hmmm,” he murmured, acknowledging.

Even if Tony had done it to Bucky multiple times before and Bucky had learned to reciprocate, it still felt greatly daring and deliciously naughty to slither down Tony’s body and take that magnificent cock into his mouth, licking eagerly at the head.

“Oh, God,” Tony moaned, nearly a whimper. “God, yes, that’s perfect...” His hands clenched in Bucky’s hair, then opened, restless with wanting.

Tony’s reactions, his desperation, was so appealing that Bucky almost forgot what the end goal was. He swirled his tongue, and took Tony as deep in his throat as he could. He unloaded sensation on him, pinching and plucking one nipple erect and then teasing the very tip, even as he thrust himself down on Tony’s tool, humming happily as Tony bucked up into that wetness.

Tony groaned and rocked into Bucky’s mouth for several long moments, then hissed and tugged gently at Bucky’s hair. “Not yet,” he panted. “Stop before I spill, I don’t want--”

Bucky reluctantly let Tony slide free with a obscene, wet pop. He wiped his chin almost sheepishly. Tony already looked wrecked, his hair in damp tangles across his forehead. “So lovely,” he told Tony, kissing him soft and letting the man taste himself on Bucky’s tongue. Bucky had to roll over a few times to fetch the oil -- Tony’s bed was ridiculously huge; it was a wonder that he could find his way out of it in the morning.

He handed the little bottle to Tony to keep track of and struggled out of his breeches.

Bucky took up position between Tony’s thighs. He’d not yet been on this side of things, and he wanted to be able to see what he was doing. Pushed Tony’s legs wide until he was utterly vulnerable and on display. Wet his fingers with the slick substance. “Just like this?” Bucky swirled one finger over the pucker, watching the muscles in Tony’s thighs quiver.

“Oh, God, yes, like that.” Tony tried to push down onto the touch. “Go on.”

He didn’t entirely mean to tease Tony relentlessly, but he was tentative, uncertain, circling and pressing. He breached Tony with one fingertip and when the muscle pushed back, Bucky retreated, went back to circling and rubbing, trying to gentle his way in. And then, once he’d managed to get in two knuckles deep, it was delightful to watch Tony writhing, helplessly clutching at the blankets, his hips bucking against Bucky’s invasion.

“Keep going,” Tony urged, “go on, you won’t hurt me. I need, I need more.” He lifted his head to look at Bucky and his eyes were dark with desire. “Please.”

Another drizzle of oil, and Bucky worked a second finger in; he didn’t even know what he was seeking, but Tony always twisted, spread his fingers as it burned, and then, made a beckoning gesture. _Come here, come here._ He shifted again, then-- there was a smoother spot inside Tony’s body, a little bump, almost like a grape. “Here?” He made that come here gesture again, and Tony practically exploded underneath him, writhing and twisting.

“Oh, _Christ_ , yes, there!” Tony half-sat, then flopped back down onto the bed, like the sensation was nearly too intense, too good to be bearable. His pushed his hands through his hair, shoving sweat-damp curls off his face. “God, yes, yes, keep going.”

Bucky tested the tight ring of muscle, tugging at Tony’s rim, waiting until it loosened, added a third finger; his fingers lined up like that were certainly wider than Bucky’s tool. He turned his hand, making sure that Tony was loose, the muscle stopped fighting him. He plowed Tony with those three fingers, in, twist, out, until Tony was all but incoherent.

“Here, darling,” Bucky told him, pulling free. He slathered a generous coating of the oil along his tool.

He slipped, a few times, trying to line them up. Everything was so slippery, and his crown rubbed against that opening several times before he got it steady, pushed in.

He’d never felt anything like it, a delicious, hot squeeze. It was all he could do to remain there as Tony moaned and wriggled under him. He wanted-- wanted… Some deep instinct pushed him forward, straining, as Tony’s body gave way and accepted him.

Tony’s whole body quivered and shook, and finally went lax. He reached up, combing his fingers through Bucky’s hair. “That’s it, that’s _perfect_ ,” he sighed. “You can move now, I’m ready for you.”

After fighting his body’s instincts, that part was easy; there was nothing to it, the easy slide and thrust, the way Tony’s body clenched around him, the inferno of that grip. He braced himself on one elbow, burying his face in the protective curve of Tony’s throat and let himself move, let himself thrust and plow, slow at first, but gradually increasing in tempo.

There was _nothing_ like it, nothing at all. He’d never felt so completely in control and yet so absolutely helpless. “Oh, god, oh _god_ , Tony,” Bucky was practically sobbing Tony’s name, tasting the sweat and salt of his throat, feeling the shudders of Tony’s body, hearing the noises that Tony was making, eager and wanton and absolutely shameless.

Tony’s arm wrapped around his waist, holding him close. “Perfect, you’re _perfect_ ,” Tony moaned.

Tony turned his head to catch Bucky’s mouth with his own, less a kiss and more an untidy sharing of breath, but it seemed exactly right, in that moment. Tony’s hand wriggled between them, catching at his cock, stroking it in time with Bucky’s thrusts. “Yes, yes, yes,” Tony chanted, breathless and gasping.

Bucky couldn’t stop, he’d lost the reins and his body ran away from him, pushing as deep into Tony as he could manage; he hooked an arm around Tony’s thigh, pushing his leg up and back, changing the angle and it was so perfect, so good, he didn’t know how he was going to stand it; it felt like he would fly apart at any second.

And then he _was_ , he was flying to pieces, every bit of him heated and eager, melting like iron, pouring himself into Tony. Silvery pleasure spilled over him; a cooling wave rippling up his skin, and then all of his nerves lit aflame until he was breathless, straining.

Tony shuddered and shook under him, and his inner muscles clamped down, squeezing almost unbearably tight. Wet heat flooded between them and Tony threw his head back, showing the beautiful arch of his throat as he reached his peak.

Bucky was panting for air, shuddering with each squeeze. “Oh, god,” he managed to choke out, balancing himself on his elbows before he fell on Tony and squashed him. He wasn’t certain how Tony managed to reach that bliss every single time and not keep Bucky in the bed with him all the time. It was a gift, a blessing, a sublime largesse. “Oh, my god.”

“Mm,” Tony agreed. His hand stroked idly over Bucky’s back, light and cooling. “Love you, my husband.”

Bucky made a face as he pulled back; they were sticky and wet, sweat and come rapidly cooling on their skin. Bucky uttered an absolutely exhausted groan and flopped over next to Tony. “Love you, too.”


	24. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the duchy becomes a place of industry, a warm light for all mankind. And in which a painting is finally finished.

The crowd wasn’t large, and the mood was more curiosity and cautious optimism than unrestrained celebration, but Tony was willing to work with that. Harlem had mostly been devoted to smelting the iron from Tony’s mines and producing steel to be worked elsewhere; the addition of an train factory to the outskirts of town was a big change for them.

Still, Tony had to start somewhere, and Harlem had been hit hard by Obie’s tax increases. They deserved a chance for new jobs and a fresh start.

The mayor was still talking, droning on and on about how the addition of the factory and a train station would put them on a wider map, or something like that. Tony had stopped paying close attention almost as soon as the man had started talking, and he was fairly certain that not a single townsperson was listening anymore, either. Most of them were eyeing Tony, standing patiently on the small platform, and Bucky, next to him, their hands linked.

Repairing the damage that Obie had caused all over the duchy had taken time and patience, and above all, money. But at least, things were looking brighter. The populace had, for the most part, adopted the new motto; _a warm light for all mankind to share_. A little overly dramatic, but Tony would take it. His people were moving toward the future, with hope.

Prosperity would come. The trains would bring goods and services at a fraction of the cost. Combined with Tony’s parliamentary initiatives, including lowering some of the goods taxes, everyone was watching Manhattan. Consider it a test ride, Tony had thought. If the duchy prospered, other nobles would fall in line.

Compete, or be left behind.

Finally, finally, the mayor stopped talking.

Blacksmith Thor placed the symbolic golden railway tie against the first length of track. Bucky picked up the heavy mallet and offered it to Tony. He took a second one for himself, and, as a team, they would drive the tie into place.

Tony had been practicing this for days; it was harder than it looked to bring such a heavy mallet down so precisely, onto a target only the size of a man’s fist. But it was with only a small amount of nervousness that he swung the hammer up over his shoulder, and then, with a twist of his body that made his new scars twinge, brought it down, striking a solid blow. He let the impact create a rebound that lifted the hammer away.

Bucky’s strike came a second after his, and the sound of spikes being driven, which would soon echo all over the countryside, formed a rhythmic sort of music. The golden tie cut into the earth and only after a half-dozen taps, was clean against the ground.

Bucky shouldered his mallet with a degree of negligence, winking at Tony across the length of track. Soon, the workmen relieved them, and the first length of track was in place.

“Good work, your Grace,” Thor said, clapping him on the arm. “We’ll make a useful sort out of you soon enough.”

“I certainly hope not,” Tony responded with cheer. “I’m enjoying the indolent life of a ne’er-do-well far too much.”

It would be weeks before the first train was built, months before the first track went to the next town.

But it was a good start.

Bucky linked his arm with Tony’s. “Shall we patronize the tavern and buy a round for the villagers?” He said it loud enough to raise a cheer from those nearby, and by the time it spread around the crowd, they were practically carried to the local taphouse.

Tony glanced up at Bucky through the commotion. “Now you’ve done it,” he said, amused. “They officially like you best.”

“And I like you the best,” Bucky said, grinning broadly. “So, it works out.”

***

Steve had been particularly finicky about painting Tony’s portrait, making Tony sit several times while he studied the man’s features. He’d spent time in the stable, studying the play of muscle under Dummy’s ruddy coat.

At no time had he allowed anyone to _look_ at the work. Everyone knew Tony would be the subject and main focus, but how Steve had decided to present him to the world was still unknown.

Finally, the staff had secured the new painting in the main hall, where it would be displayed for the entirety of Tony’s life. Upon the sad day when the duchy lost him, the portrait would spend a year lined in black crepe, and then migrate upstairs to the gallery to hang with the rest of the paintings, each one a reminder and relic of the dukes that had gone before.

Bucky had seen all the other paintings, a collection of dark-haired men and women, each with some degree of arrogance, looking off in the distance, toward glory. The hairstyles and clothing changed, the techniques of each artist as individual as the subjects.

Steve was standing near the curtain that hid the painting from sight. There weren’t many people present for the unveiling; the ducal staff, a few friends. But it was an important moment in Steve’s career. If Tony hated it, Steve might never get another commission.

Tony nodded to Steve. “We’re ready when you are.” He didn’t look nervous, just slightly curious.

Steve tugged on the string, yanking the curtain back in heaves and jerks.

The first thing noticeable about the painting was how bright it was, the sky practically white, thick with sunshine. It glittered down on the flank and withers of Dummy, who was prancing, showing off. Tony was portrayed in the saddle, wearing his favorite riding coat, a dark red with gold trim. Instead of the usual pose for an equestrian portrait, Tony wasn’t looking off toward some impossible goal.

Instead, the painted figure was at a slight angle, offering a hand to a second form. Bucky was in profile, staring back up at the duke, getting ready to swing up behind him. Their hands were linked, and they were looking at each other, rather than at the audience. The position of the sun in the painting’s sky suggested a halo around the couple.

Steve had not painted a portrait of the duke; he’d painted a tribute to their love.

Tony didn’t look at all surprised. He came closer and examined the painting in detail, mouth curved in a smile. “Well done, Mr. Rogers,” he said after a moment. “Exceeds all my expectations. Well done, indeed.” He broke out into a wide grin. “You did say you would include all my favorite things, didn’t you?”

“I can paint what I see,” Steve said. “Or I can paint how I feel about it. I hope you’re pleased, your Grace.”

Bucky just stared at it; the painting was so real that Tony could have used it for a shaving mirror. He practically expected Dummy to leap out of the frame and gallop off. The way Bucky-in-the-painting was staring up at his lover would have been embarrassingly sappy, except painting-Tony was gazing back with the identical longing and affection.

“More than pleased, Mr. Rogers. Indeed, I’m sorely tempted to offer you patronage.”

“Best do it now,” Steve suggested. “Word gets around, my rates’ll go up at least tenfold. And before I decide I’d rather travel. On the other hand, making interested parties come to me for a chance to be painted, that could build quite a reputation. You’ll have to decide if I’m worth the trouble.”

“Punk,” Bucky said, slinging an arm around his friend. “You’re supposed to be polite to th’ gentry.”

“Jerk,” Steve retorted. “Who are you, and what did you do with Bucky Barnes?”

Bucky knew he was giving Tony a sappy look identical to that of his oil-painted counterpart. “Fell in love.”

Steve shrugged out from under Bucky’s arm. “I changed my mind, your Grace. My rates have gone up twenty times, if I am expected to endure this sap as part of my working conditions.”

Tony laughed and pulled Bucky up against him instead. “What do you think, sweetheart? Shall we keep Mr. Rogers with us?”

Bucky snuggled up to his spouse. “He’s absolutely indispensable.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap! :D
> 
> Of course, if you know us, you know we're nowhere near done writing! We'll be back Thursday with the start of a short [Sandbridge](https://archiveofourown.org/series/700245) story, "Is This a Kissing Book?", which will be followed by the rest of the [Stark, Naked](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16335944) (camboi!Tony) story. And if you haven't already joined us on Sundays for our werewolf!Bucky story, [Forever Home](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16432361), you should check that out! 
> 
> And if you _don't_ know us, why not?! We can be found on tumblr ([tisfan](https://tisfan.tumblr.com) | [27dragons](https://27dragons.tumblr.com)) where we're both happy to chat!


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